The second conquest of paradise
by Hyperbion
Summary: The story of Aisling Brand, civilian Mechanic from the industrial core world Brink who signed up as a contractor for an IMC (Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation) freight voyage to the frontier aboard the Austraeus, the largest ship in the IMC fleet. The voyage is going fine until the Austraeus discovers that Demeter has been destroyed. A story set in the Titanfall universe.
1. Into the abyss

Disclaimer and other useful information:

I'm only going to write this once, so apply this message to every chapter posted.

I do not own Titanfall. If I did, this fanfiction would be posted on the wikia as canon, not here.

I don't own the universe _of_ Titanfall. The game itself is rich in lore. I don't own this lore, the universe, the characters of Titanfall, the weapons, starships, titans, Spectres or technology of Titanfall. Last time I checked, Titanfall and everything within it belonged to Respawn entertainment.

I'm just a guy writing a story for the players of Titanfall to supplement Titanfall's campaign.

Respawn, if you're reading this, please don't sue me. Message me on reddit at /u/akucera or here on fanfiction and I'll remove the fanfiction.

If you're reading this and you haven't played Titanfall, welcome! I recommend you support Respawn entertainment by buying and playing their fantastic game, but if you can't, you should watch the _Titanfall intro cinematic_ (you can find this on youtube) and any a video of a game of titanfall (also on youtube. The video itself doesn't matter, just make sure you have a rudimentary understanding of Titanfall gameplay.)

This fanfiction is rated MA. I intend to graphically describe everything with the greatest level of accuracy I can. This means that I will be describing, in detail, the inner workings of starships, weaponry, human biology in space, the bureaucracy of the governments of planets - and violence. Be prepared for written gore. I will give warning of gore in chapters where gore is present, for the squeamish of heart.

And now, let the show begin!

* * *

"Jumping in Three! Two! On-" called the shuttle pilot from the flight deck, voice cut off as the micro jump drives kicked in and drowned out all other noise. Aisling caught a glimpse of Brink, her homeworld, out the shuttle's window before the ship jumped amidst the cruisers in orbit. She caught another glimpse of Brink out the shuttle's window – but from 'up' here, it looked very different.

"Bye, Mum," she whispered. "I love you."  
"I know, darling," came the reply in her earpiece, laced with tears. "If only I could come with you..."

Aisling gritted her teeth. She wouldn't cry. "I'll be back in a few years, though."  
"Take care of yourself," stressed her mother. "I mean it. If anything weird happens, get off the ship and come home. I'd rather you come home without any money than die as a statistic in another person's war."

"I'll do my best. I'm just a mechanic, I'm not even going to be in any danger."

"Very well. Listen, I -"

"Attention, All personnel," called the shuttle pilot over the intercom. "We will be docking with the _IMS Austraeus_ in three minutes. As they interfere with our navigation computer's pre-docking coupling transmissions, please disable your personal radio-transmitters."

"Mum, I've got to go now," said Aisling. "I'll be back home soon, I promise."  
"Okay," sniffed her mother. "I love you so very much." She began bawling now.  
"Me too. I've got to go now – goodbye!"

Aisling flicked the switch on her communicator. She'd said goodbye to her brother and sister before she'd gotten on the shuttle, but her mother was rather sentimental and apparently wanted to talk to her right up until the last moment.

"Brace for acceleration in three, two, one, mark," said the intercom. The Shuttle's engines fired for a second and the shuttle began to drift toward the _Austraeus_.

_My new home for the next year, huh?_ thought Aisling. The _Austraeus _was one of the first ships to arrive on the frontier after the scouts. She was built for carrying a metric fuck-ton of freight – capable of hauling four dreadnaughts, given that they were disassembled during transit.

Dreadnaughts being, of course, the second-largest classification of military ship, smaller only than the enormous capital ships that defended the core worlds.

The shuttle had entered an enormous hole in the _Austraeus's_ hull – used to carry interstellar shipping crates or frigates – and was now nearing an airlock at the end of the container. Behind the shuttle a huge door rolled silently along tracks to complete the _Austraeus's_ hull.

After the initial rush to colonise the frontier worlds, the IMC had purchased the _Austraeus_ and her surviving sister-ship the _Dauntless _from their original owner. Now the twins were used to haul goods _back_ to the core worlds, making the jump direct from the frontier to the core (with no need to stop to refuel in-between) in just 2200 hours without cargo, 2900 hours with cargo. This trip would be simple – they'd warp from Brink to Venice 3 with some scrap computer parts, money, gold, blueprints, scientific research and other valuable items, trade them with the bewildered and undoubtedly amazed locals on the frontier, load up the _Austraeus_ with oil and metal, then jump back to Brink, completing the journey in about 6000 hours. The oil and metal would go on to IMC factories on Brink and Earth and would emerge as luxury goods for the upper class worlds – Earth, New Athens, Poseidon, etcetera – and money would find its way into Aisling's hands.

Due to their role, the _Austraeus_ and the _Dauntless _were unique in the universe. Four kilometres long, 900 metres high and wide and shaped like a giant cylinder, they were tied with the title as the largest ships ever made. Two centrifuges on the side for storing gravitationally-sensitive things and for living quarters. The whole thing rode a 500 metre long nuclear explosion to the stars. Their most unique features, however, where their legacy drives.

Starships used rockets to accelerate them forwards and warp or jump drives to compress the space in front of them and expand it out behind them - shortening the distance the ship had to travel. Jump drives only slightly compressed space but weighed (comparatively) nothing. Their small mass allowed the ship's rocket to quickly accelerate or decelerate the starship. Combined with their reasonable warp strength, a jump-capable ship could leap across a solar system in a few hours - great for military ships, who could even use their drives to jump out of a bullet's path if necessary. Warp drives weighed a metric fuckload and were mounted on large ships with the fuel capacity to travel longer distances. These ships accelerated slower than jump-capable ships but their top speed was _enormous_ – owing also to the fact that they were usually mounted on ships with large fuel tanks.

And then there were _Legacy_ drives. The greatest scientists and engineers of a generation lead by Sir Hammond himself built just four legacy drives for the four colony ships sent to the frontier. These drives were capable of compressing the space in front of a starship by _four hundred thousand_ times. They were also the size of a battleship and weighed as much as a cruiser – completely impractical for use on anything other than a superfreighter. With a legacy drive each of the colony ships could make the warp from the core worlds to the frontier in a few thousand hours, rather than tens of thousands of hours. Now, just the _Austraeus _and the _Dauntless_ remained of the original four.

"Deceleration in three, two, one, mark," said the intercom, and the shuttle's reverse thrusters pulsed, slowing the shuttle as it neared the airlock.

The airlock hissed, shuttle doors opened. The shuttle-ees began to unbuckle themselves from their seats and were immediately glad that they had purchased magnetic boots beforehand.

"Greetings, crew!" exclaimed a man standing upside-down in the airlock, hanging off the roof with his magnetic boots.

_Well. Up is a relative term in space._

"According to this," the man said, "you guys are the last shuttle to dock. We're going to be leaving for the IMC port at Venice 3 in a few hours, so get some rest and adjust to your designated time-zone before then. Make a line and come past me and I'll give you your briefing cards."

The man called out each person's name and handed them a card. Aisling was called early – usual for her, given her last name – and thus came to receive her card. The man glanced at her card and motioned in the general direction of her cabin before moving to the next person.

* * *

Aisling Brand

Cabin Q 7:12

Electrical engineer, hangar 42

This ship uses 26 hour days.

Time Zone -6 hours.

* * *

...read Aisling, walking along the corridor toward her cabin. On occasions she had to duck or dodge to the side as other crew-members passed above or beside her, hanging upside down and off the walls with their boots. The card also showed a helpful map that described how the cabin numbering system worked. The letter corresponded to the hangar the crew area was nearby and the numbers were co-ordinates for the hangar's location – so, hers was in row seven, 12th from the end.

_Hangar Q, deck 7, cabin 12. I think our shuttle docked at Hangar Q..._

She soon found a corridor leading to the crew area and began walking toward her cabin, which appeared to be on the roof until she oriented herself correctly. She pushed the entry button.

"Oi!" roared a woman inside. "Don't cha knock on your planet?!"

Said woman's shirt was floating in the low-gravity above her head, sleeping attire in her hands, arms covering her chest.

"We do," replied Aisling, who entered, closed the door and turned to give the woman some privacy. "Most of the time. Sorry."

A second later the door opened again. "You can look now!.."

Aisling floated inside, caught a bunk and swung toward it. "Sorry about before," she apologised.

"It's okay... whispered the woman. Aisling took another look at her, this time with her shirt on.

She was young, heavily tanned, and _very tall_. To be 1.9 metres high at – what, 170 Kilohours old? Her height, skin tone and accent gave it away.

"Let me guess – you're from Helios?" asked Aisling.  
"Yeah!.."

Aisling giggled. Helios was an IMC colony built on a small (and thus low-gravity) planet orbiting its sun rather closely. The thin atmosphere brought on by the low-gravity environment barely reduced the sun's glare, resulting in dark-skinned inhabitants. The low gravity meant that their spines tended to stretch out further than usual, leaving them incredibly tall – granted, this girl was probably _short_ back on Helios. Finally, the thin atmosphere meant that Helians tended to grow stronger lungs than humans living elsewhere. This lead to Helian voices naturally being louder than normal. At home, the sound of their voices wouldn't travel as far (due to the thin atmosphere). As a result Helians found it difficult to control their voices when moving to thicker atmospheres. Brink was the same size as Earth, but it's thick iron core made it's gravity slightly stronger than Earth's. The important thing about Brink, however, was that it's magnetic field extended far into space, making the manufacturing of orbital goods much easier as crews didn't have to deal with the sun's electromagnetic radiation. Similarly, the increased gravity on the surface meant that goods made to last on Brink would generally be strong enough to last anywhere and were thus highly sought-after amongst the people living on the upper-class worlds.

"I'm Aisling, of Brink."

"Pleased to meet you, Aisling..." the girl whispered. "I'm Sophia!" she shouted a moment later, before blushing at her outburst.

_I feel her pain. The atmosphere is thinner here than on brink. I'm having trouble being heard._

Someone knocked on the door.

"Come in!" called Aisling.

The door opened, and four uniformed woman – by the looks of it, from Ahrax – strode in.  
"Afternoon, ladies," said the first one, hair tied high, sunglasses hiding her eyes. "I'm IMC Officer Jenny Baxter, I'll be bunking with you. This is Je'lai, Evans and Street."

" 'Morning," said Aisling. "Wait, it is still morning, right?" She checked her watch.

_Yep, 13:23 Am._

"Negative," said Baxter, eyebrow raised. "This ship uses 26 hour days, not 28 like Brink. 'Afternoon' starts at 13 o'clock, not 14. Our cabin has _also _been designated to run six hours behind the main clock. It's actually 15:23 hours. You ever flown on a starship before?"

"No..."

"_Marvellous_," said Baxter, sarcasm oozing from her words. "Please don't vomit in your sleep."

_So these guys are IMC, huh?_ thought Aisling as she hit the necessary buttons on her watch to synch it with the ship's clock. The Interstellar Mining Corporation's voyages were usually manned by half IMC-dedicated personnel and half contractors whom they'd hire along the way as the voyage required. These four would be regulars – soldiers, navigators, engineers, mechanics – hell, there'd be a couple salesmen in there too, to get the IMC the best deals when they traded with the frontier settlers. This was Aisling's first voyage with the IMC and by the looks of it the same was true for Sophia. Unlike the regulars, who wore silver and blue uniforms, Aisling and Sophia donned T-shirts and shorts. Aisling was glad she didn't bring any skirts. Zero gravity made them a tad – revealing, to say the least. T-shirts, evidently, weren't that much better. It would get better when the centrifuges turned on.

H_opefully this ismy last voyage with the IMC._ The IMC treated the inhabitants of the core worlds fairly – so Aisling knew she'd be paid at the end of it all – but they were known for being brutal to frontier settlers. They'd turn colonies upside-down at the slightest hint of oil or tritium buried below. They'd tear apart entire cities to capture a single outlaw. They never paid their bounties.

If her family wasn't so desperate for the money, she'd have stayed on Brink, but an IMC grease-monkey was paid significantly more than a grease-monkey on Brink. Her father worked day and night to support Aisling's mother and his three children. Labour and lives were cheap on Brink. A pregnant woman could be replaced in an instant and the moment Aisling's mother's employees found out about her fourth child they'd fired her on the spot with a shrug and a sorry.

And thus, the moment Aisling heard the IMC were in Brink and were hiring – 30% now, 30% at the end and 40% along the way – she'd signed up for a voyage right away and written down her father's bank account details. Hopefully he could keep the family afloat until her arrival.

A screen on the wall of the cabin flickered and pulled Aisling back into reality. The words "Voyage briefing" appeared, then a face. Male, pale (almost albino) white skin. Brilliant green eyes, brown hair. Stubble on the chin, large nose. Not old enough to be a grandfather, but somehow with the wise look and trustworthy feel of one.

"Good afternoon, crew, I'm IMC captain Roberts," said the face, introducing itself. "This is a pre-recorded message being played to you the day our voyage begins, in each of your afternoons at 15:30. The _IMS Austraeus_ will be leaving port on Brink at 23:00, time local to the ship's computer, or 15:00 Brink local time. We will be warping from Brink to deep space, halfway between Brink of Sol 4 and Venice 3 of the Freeport system. The warp will take 1071 hours and we'll be accelerating the whole way by burning our main engines. When we're in deep space we'll be at our top speed - around 225 kilometres per second. We'll burn our auxiliary engines for 4.5 hours to accelerate us in the clockwise direction, and then another 4.5 hours to decelerate us. We'll come to a relative stop having turned 180 degrees, at which point we'll fire our main engines again to slow us down. After 1037 hours we'll keep our engines burning but also turn on our auxiliary engines. Our main and auxiliary engines will turn off 34 hours later and with any luck we'll have dropped out of warp and into orbit around Venice 3.

We'll then move into Venice 3's spaceport and unload our cargo. At that point, you're all welcome to see the sights at Venice 3 while our traders sell our goods and purchase cargo for us to freight home. That'll take about two weeks.

Following that we'll warp to Carlyle and refuel just enough to make a second warp to Demeter. At Demeter we'll completely refuel and warp all the way home.

So, welcome to the _IMS Austraeus_, your new home for the next 5760 hours. Some of you will have crewed her before. Those of you contractors who haven't, well, once again, welcome aboard. Obey your Commanding Officer's and keep an eye out for acceleration alerts and you'll do just fine. New crewmen, your IMC comrades have flown with us before and are trained in all the basic tasks around this ship. Feel free to ask anyone with an IMC blue armband for directions.

There are a few hazards out here in space. The IMS Austraeus is equipped to shield us from radiation and small asteroids. We've got our Auxiliary engines to dodge the larger space-rocks, but for the most part space is empty and we don't expect to find many. If we're attacked by pirates we can easily hold them off until we outrun them – our fuel tanks are _much_ bigger than theirs."

Space piracy wasn't practised so much in the core worlds – more so on the frontier. Because a large ship's warp drive warps space in front of it and behind it for a large distance smaller ships can drop in behind a larger ship and utilise the larger ship's warp drive's power. The larger ship typically has a larger fuel tank than the smaller ship and thus is capable of outrunning the smaller ship – but the smaller ship's thrusters are more efficient (less mass to accelerate) so, for a short time, the smaller ship has an advantage over the larger ship. Pirates used this tactic to catch up to and board larger ships. For this reason many ships had rear-facing cannons installed.

"We're not on a military voyage so we're not equipped to deal with _serious_ military incursions. If we come up against militia spacecraft we're calling for IMC support and legging it. We have a couple of Pilots and titans aboard but that's all we'll need. Venice 3 is as peaceful as it gets on the frontier.

That's all for the briefing, I'll see you all on Venice 3."

The centrifuges began to turn on the sides of the _Austraeus_, creating weak artificial gravity of a sort. It was better than the magnetic boots, at least.

A group of engineers called Aisling down to take a look at a panel on the warp drive before they left port, but it was easily fixed. Warp drives work in conjunction with the ship's thrusters to propel their ship at enormous speeds. They stockpile energy from the ship's fusion reactor in a flywheel and release it all at once, creating an artificial black hole in the centre of their warping arrays. The black hole – or, in the case of the _Austraeus's _legacy drive, the _eight _black _holes_ \- bend space-time around them. By synchronising the creation of the holes, the gradual annihilation of them due to antimatter formation on their event horizons and the speeds at which they spun one could fold space in a line in front of a spaceship and unfold it behind the spaceship. While the _Austraeus's _thrusters would only take it up to 225,000 metres per second her warping array was capable of folding the space in front of her into four hundred thousandths' of it's original size – multiplying the_Austraeus's _top speed by four hundred thousand times to a total speed of 300 times the speed of light _and_ minimising the effects of relativity. Aisling simply bolted down the metal cover of an auxiliary radiation vent for the spacial warping array – nothing special or particularly crucial.

Just as Aisling was going to sleep – 'twas annoying having to fix the engineers' problem at what was (for her cabin) designated night-time – an alarm sounded.

Je'lai moaned, opening her eyes. "Acceleration alarm, brace."

"Bon Voyage," muttered Evans. " 'Ere we go agaen."

The _Austraeus's_ main thrusters fired and she began to leave orbit around Brink, accelerating toward Venice 3 – currently just a speck of light in the universe. A few moments later the space directly in front of the _Austraeus_ began to contract and she dove into the abyss.


	2. The Pilots

Holy hell, 91 people have viewed my shitty fanfic in three days?!  
You guys have no idea how encouraging that it.  
This is my first fanfic. As long as people want to read it, I'll continue to update. I still have a shit-ton of content for it that I'm proof reading at the moment, so expect recent updates. If you have any issues with my writing style - if I'm missing lots of capital letters or misspelling words lots, _please let me know._ I improve through criticism.

According to the traffic graph, most of you are from America and are used to the Imperial measurement system. I use the metric system, partially because I live in New Zealand and partially because I believe that it will be the measurement system of choice in the future, where this fanfic is set. Sorry!

Speaking of New Zealand, it's 2:37 AM right now. I'm going to go to sleep and do a more thorough check of the formatting in this chapter later.

One of my hobbies is to write, another is to play titanfall, another is to draw, badly. Here's Aisling:

www.

imgur

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com

/

70JRSAB

(you'll have to remove the spaces because I'm bloody tired right now and I cannot be bothered finding out how to make links work with fanfiction.)

Thanks,  
~ Hyperbion

* * *

As warping objects travel faster than light by bending space perpendicular to their path, the only way to detect them before they hit you is, by pure chance, to have a camera or light sensor of some kind look directly at the warping object while within the object's warp field, thus detecting the light from the ship that traveled through the space the ship was warping. Large ships have longer warp fields that project our far in front of them and thus can be detected from further away. Light and heat radiating from a starship through normal space takes an age to travel anywhere in space, given the sheer distance between anything interesting in the dark void. Light travelling in the direction of this ship itself, much like the ship, takes a short-cut through space due to the ship's warp or jump drive compressing space ahead of the ship. As the effects of a ship's warp drive are strongest nearest to the ship, the light from the ship travels very fast as it leaves the ship and slows down to normal light speed as it moves away from the ship.

This results in spaceships condensing their own thermal radiation in front of them. Any observer that happens to find itself staring down a warping ship will see an explosion of thermal radiation from the ship's engines – the faster and bigger the ship, the greater the flash of light. This flash is known as a warp signature and can serve as a warning of incoming spaceships.

500 hours into the voyage the _Austraeus _detected the warp signature of an object headed straight for the ship. The duration of the flash of light combined with the intensity of the light and the thickness of the tunnel of space the probe was warping in front of it allowed the warp specialists of the Austraeus to guess its approximate size, speed, and how long it had been travelling for – likely a communications probe. Such probes were built for faster-than-light communication and were essentially a small radio transmitter riding a three-ton nuclear rocket and microwarp drive toward the intended recipient of the message it carried.

Due to the speed of the probe and the _Austraeus's_ lack of energy shields she was forced to make a sudden dodge to the side to avoid having the object _punch through her hull._ It didn't matter in the end whether it was an emergency communications pod travelling at 0.99 times the speed of light or if it was a dreadnought (stupidly and illegally) cruising through intergalactic shipping routes – both ruin your day if they hit you.

The sudden acceleration of the dodge, however, broke things, things throughout the _Austraeus _that Aisling and the other mechanics had to fix. The main concern was a secondary Tritium manifold which took three Austraeus–days (78 hours) to fix during which the _Austraeus's _engines had to be shut down.

Aisling awoke one 'day' some 700 hours into the voyage, yawned, slipped out of her bunk, nearly tripped over Sophia (who, given that her bunk wasn't long enough to accommodate her legs and had to sleep with her feet poking out the end, had managed to slip out the end and onto the floor _without waking up_), pulled on her clothes, stumbled into the women's bathroom, showered in what the IMC crewmembers called 'recycled piss', had breakfast (washed down with some coffee-flavoured recycled piss), nodded at some of the crewmen who were working on a different time-zone and thus were about to go to bed in her cabin (to save space, twelve people shared a six-person cabin. Six people worked while the others slept), ran a few laps around the _Austraeus's _virtual running track, pulled a few chin-ups, and left for her morning's briefing.

"Afternoon, Aisling," her supervisor greeted. "Ready to repair a broken coffee machine?"

"Still morning for me, Dokes," she replied with a smile at their inside joke. It wasn't particularly funny, but it was part of their morning routine and helped make the 'day' go by a little faster.

"I've never fixed a coffee machine before. First time for everything, huh? Where is the bloody thing?"

"Well, that's just it. It's the _Pilots'_ coffee machine. Do you know where the Pilots' quarters are?"

Of course she did. Pilot gossip spread like the third interplanetary plague.

"I think so. I'll head there now."

* * *

Half an hour later the door to the Pilot's quarters was opened.  
"Oh, sorry," said a tall, bearded man, eyes widening slightly.

_One point eight metres tall, maybe? _thought Aisling.

His hair was dark black and cut short. His skin, slightly browned. _Probably from Earth. _

Then there were the prosthetic legs. Aisling could just make out the metal pistons and joints jutting out from under his three-quarter pants.

_I wonder what happened to them._

"You guys are superhuman and you can't even hear me knock for ten minutes?" asked Aisling, eyebrow raised.  
"We heard you," said the man sheepishly, "but we thought you were a pilot. We don't let you in unless you do the secret doorknock."  
Aisling giggled. "Secret doorknock? You serious?"  
"Show her the secret doorknock, Daniek," called a pale white-skinned blonde woman reading a magazine on a couch. Her accent seemed to be french.

"Right-o -"

The pilot named Daniek crouched and leapt upwards, twisted his hips and activated his magnetic boots just in time to have them catch on the ceiling. The whole manoeuvre looked impossible to Aisling, whose mouth went from a playful smirk to agape in the second it took for Daniek to execute it.

"You've got to knock upside-down," explained Daniek from the ceiling, "or stay outside until you've learnt to do the jump. Anyway, coffee machine. That'swhy you're here, right?"  
" 'Parently you guys can't live without it."

Danniek dropped from the roof and lead her to the machine. "Well, Jenni does like her coffee."  
"Two stims and a sugar," called the blonde from the couch.  
"Coffee machine's fixed?" asked a short man who'd just walked in from the Pilot's quarters. The man stood at just 1.6 metres tall and looked like he could shrug off a titan punch.

"Not yet," murmured Aisling. "Soon." She unscrewed the cover plates of the machine. "I've never fixed a coffee machine before. Lets see... coffee beans go in here..."

She followed the path the beans would take. They'd go through the grinder – which appears to be working, there's coffee grinds in the test coffee she just made – into a cup, get compressed by a metal plate – hold on, what's pushing the plate? No, the compressor is here, that's fine... Is the pressure right? If the ground beans are compressed too much, they could block the water flow – no, the dial says the pressure is right – is the dial wrong? The pressure readout controls the voltage of the motor that runs the compressor – no, the compressor is working – what about the water pressure and the backsplash valve?

All the while Aisling talked with Daniek. She'd guessed correctly, he'd grown up on Earth. Australian father, South African mother. Both separated, both insanely rich (like everyone else who lived on Earth). He'd joined the IMC to train as a soldier at age 16 after he'd "had enough of all the corporate bullshit". After scoring highly all-round in the tests new recruits ran and breaking the record for marksmanship the instructors took special interest in him and nominated him for training as a pilot. He'd emerged at age 20 as a fully-fledged pilot with average to high scores in everything. Following that he'd been deployed as a peacekeeper to the rioting cloud cities of Venus. Now at age 21 he was off to the frontier for the first time.

Meanwhile Aisling found the fault in the coffee machine. The water pressure of the coffee machine was too high and inconsistent due to a fault in the boiler, and a valve within the machine was broken. Water could pass into the cup containing the coffee grounds – and then the boiler pressure would drop and the water would shoot back up the pipe, carrying coffee grounds with it and sucking the filter cup upwards. The water would then trickle around the cup and emerge from the machine as a watery shot of coffee with coffee grounds inside it, instead of a smooth blend of creamy brown coffee.

A few turns of her screwdriver later and the boiler was out of the machine.

"Hold on a sec," she called, "I need to get a new boiler from the junkboxes. I'll be back in five."

"I'll race you," said Daniek. "It's been a while since I've practised my parkour anywhere other than War Games. Jenni, wanna come?"

"No thanks," Jenni replied, still engrossed in her magazine. "I'll be fine."  
"She will," muttered Daniek to Aisling. "She's got the best War Games score out of all the Pilots aboard the ship."

"War Games?"

"One of the modes of a pilot certification simulator... let me just grab my helmet."  
"No way." Aisling broke into a sprint. "If this is a race, I'll need a head-start."

She shoved open the door to the pilot's quarters, leapt forward, disengaged her mag-boots and hurtled down the corridor.

The _Austraeus_ was decelerating, so there was still _some_ 'gravity' pulling her down, but not nearly as much as with her magnetic boots on or within the centrifuge. The Austraeus was only decelerating at around 0.5 metres per second, so the 'gravity' she felt pulling her down was only a twentieth' of the core world Earth's and only a twenty-fifth' of Brink's gravity.

Her feet scraped against the floor. She tucked into a roll, hit the wall at the end of the corridor, pushed off around the corner. Flicked her hand out to slow her left side down and she turned toward the next corridor. She moved fast – the alleyways of Brink taught her to think on her feet. Evidently, not faster than Daniek.

She could hear the patter of his feet in the corridors behind her, making a much lighter sound than they should for a man of his size. She glanced behind her as she turned the next corner to see him _running along a wall_ a hundred metres behind her, jump-kit burning bright blue to keep him in the air. He probably wasn't even trying.

_I__'m racing __a bloody pilot, _Aisling thought. _There's no way I __can outrun him. All right_,_take this -!_

She ducked into an air vent and held her breath.

_He's a pilot. Bet'cha he doesn't know the way to the junkboxes. If I lose him here, I can sneak there through a different route._

Moments later she saw him sprint past her, helmet facing forward, looking and listening but not finding. She heard a soft thud as his feet hit the end of the corridor and he sprung off – away from her.

_Heh. Nailed it. _

She crept out of the alcove and tip-toed back down the corridor and hit her head on the roof jumping when Daniek tapped her on the shoulder.

"Ever heard of active sonar bursts?" he asked with a grin, removing his helmet.

"Fine, you got me," she laughed, and started to breathe again. "Junkboxes are this way."

"Hey, why's Jenni so quiet?" asked Aisling. "She just sat there reading. I'd thought you pilots would be more – y'know, lively. With all the fighting and shooting and shit."

"She had a rough past," replied Daniek thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?"

"Well -" he sighed. "She grew up on Lawrence's Run."

Aisling's eyes widened, mouth opened agape.

"Is she -"

"Okay? She's fine, don't worry."

"How old was she?" Aisling asked, unbelieving.

"Five."

"Holy shit, six?! Fuck me! And you say she's _fine_? Did her parents make it out alive?"

"No..."  
"I... don't know what to say."  
He laughed a sad laugh. "Nobody does, Ms. Brand. Nobody does."

She found a spare boiler and they returned to the pilot's quarters in silence. Aisling knocked, realised she had to do the jump thing to actually get the door opened, tried twice, kicked the door in frustration, let Daniek knock, entered the room, and began installing the boiler.

Jenni looked up after a few minutes. "I appreciate the quiet, but you guys are a little... _too quiet._ What happened?"

"I told her. Sorry."  
"Oh." She smiled weakly, nodded. "Okay. I – need to get over it."  
Aisling waited a moment, then asked.

"Uhh, Jenni – if you don't mind me asking – how did you escape?"

Jenni closed her eyes. "I was six years old.

* * *

The sky was deep black. Not black like a sheet of black paper nor black like rubber, nor black like a dark room. The sky was black, like a sponge soaking up all the light, the stars like candles in a wind, struggling to stay alight.

Then the ground began to crack beneath Jenni's feet and she screamed. Her daddy gripped her tighter.

"Don't worry, sunshine. It's just a bad dream. We're all just going to wake up tomorrow and everything will be okay."  
Her mummy was crying quietly, and Jenni knew why. Her daddy was fibbing.

Nightmares happened in the night-time when she slept. Not while she was awake.

She could see the stars in the sky between her father's legs stretching and falling and she knew it was bad because _the sun was doing it too._

"Daddy," she whispered, tiny fingers clenched tight around his hand, "What's going on?"

She already knew, though. The world had gotten too close to the spot. That was bad, she knew that. Not even the stars liked the spot; they skirted around the edges. Daddy had told her long ago that really, the stars weren't skirting around the edge; only their light was. That the spot really was a star, just a really, really old one and that she didn't need to be afraid of it, as long as nothing got too close to the spot.

But it couldn't be a star. Stars are bright, and this one was dark.

And then the ground cracked again and she stopped worrying about the spot. The world was cracking, cracks forming and being filled over and over again when the ground fell into them. One crack began moving toward them and Jenni screamed and they ran and the ground behind them was gone and daddy said "LOOK!"

Because one light in the sky was still fine.

Her daddy grabbed her hand and mummy grabbed the other and they ran faster than they'd ever ran before towards the light.

The research building was broken from when the space-rock hit it. Her daddy put her on his shoulders and lifted her up to the roof of the building and did mummy. Her mummy stood on the roof next to Jenni and waved at the light until it started turning and then she helped Jenni's daddy up onto the roof.

And then Daddy was on the roof and there was a shuttle coming in to hover by the roof and the door opened and Daddy pushed Jenny inside and then the world flashed and Daddy and Mummy were gone."

* * *

Jenni's eyes were bloodshot and wet with tears. "Excuse me," she said, dropping the magazine to the ground and lurching to her feet, "I haven't had a shower yet today. I – think I'm going to go take a shower."


	3. Home in one piece

Aisling fixed the coffee machine in silence, said goodbye to the Pilots and returned to her Dokes for more things to fix. She felt terrible; what Jenni had said had cut her deep.

She had a family on Brink. And while Brink wasn't even _close_ to any black holes, meteor strikes were still a very real possibility.

At 19:30 (time zone: -6) she made her way to the mess hall, found a seat next to Sophia of Helios and began eating a watery curry.  
"Hey," whispered Sophia. "Heard you met the Pilots."

"Well, just three of them, the others were asleep or training."

At this point Aisling realised that the entire mess hall had gone quiet.

"What?" shouted Aisling. "Yeah, I met the Pilots. Big deal! They're just... normal people, but faster."

"Heard you raced one," yelled a man on the other side of the hall.  
"Yeah, damn straight I did!" she called back. "He beat me! What a surprise!"

And suddenly the hall exploded with questions.  
"What are they like?"  
"What are their names?"  
"Are there any female Pilots?"  
"Is the guy cute?"  
"How tall are they?"  
"Was the Pilot you raced _really fast, _or just _kinda fast_?"  
"Did you nick any stim?"  
"Wait, Pilots _sleep?_"

"Oh, for fucks' sake people!" she roared. "Leave me alone!"

She threw the rest of her curry away and returned to her cabin for some peace and quiet but found none when Je'lai threw her against the wall. Evans stood above her as she struggled to her feet. Baxter and Street looked up with mild interest.

"H'eard ye met the Pilots to'day," snarled Je'lai.  
"You jealous, Lai?" Aisling grunted, getting to her feet. "Yeah, I did. So what?"  
"What ze fuck did you do to Jenni?" Evans growled, grabbing her collar.

_This is getting dangerous, _thought Aisling, taking deep breaths, heart starting to beat fast. Growing up on a planet with a thick atmosphere did her no favours.

"I didn't do jack fucking shit." Aisling pushed Evans away, breathed. "I asked where she was from, she got all sensitive. Happy?"  
"Watch who you're pushing, _civilian. _Don't fuck with our pilots, we don't fuck with you. We clear?"  
"You got a problem with civilians? Put 'em up and," _breath_, "I'll beat the shit out of ya."

Evans was in the process of putting her fists up when Baxter pulled her smart pistol out of its' holster.

"Oh, real," _breath_, "_brave _of you," muttered Aisling sarcastically. "Brought a gun to a fistfight," _breath_, "backin' up your mate." _Breath._  
"_Y__ou_ brought your fists to a gunfight," Baxter replied, fuming. "And I'm not here to back up either of you. You're both acting like children. Aisling, you're not under my jurisdiction but I suggest you drop this argument _now_. Evans, drop this argument _now_. You idiots are going to get along, is that clear?"

Evans rolled her eyes, gritted her teeth, and then forced a smile at Aisling. "I'm sorry for getting angry at you Aisling. I hope we can be friends."

Aisling rolled her eyes. "Whatever," _breath_. "Just don't give me flak for shit I didn't do." She dropped into her bunk, started to breathe normally again.

Then she wondered something. "Wait, how do you, know Jenni?"  
"We trained with her," replied Baxter, putting her Smart Pistol back in its holster.  
"Wait, you -"  
"Yeah. We're pilot rejects," snorted Evans. "Sure you wanna settle that argument with your fists?"

* * *

Aisling left Baxter and friends alone for the rest of the journey. She got along alright with Sophia, who was slowly learning to control her voice in the thicker atmosphere. Turned out that Sophia had also signed up as a mechanic, and the two of them worked together on their assignments. The short girl from Brink and the tall girl from Helios.

There were other mechanics aboard, too. Aisling recognised Nathan Marshall, a friend from Brink. He'd helped Aisling find the parts for her first Mech and helped her put it together. The guy was a year younger than her and a few centimetres shorter than her but packed an explosive personality to make up for his missing height. At the height of their friendship they'd stolen a portable fission reactor together. The job took four days (during which Aisling's parents got _very _worried) and involved sneaking into an STR shipyard.

Then there was the guy who insisted his real name was Bones but who everyone just called Bonerhead after he'd gotten his head stuck in a washing machine in the women's laundry. He _insisted_ he didn't know how he got there. When he was working and not goofing off he was fantastic with his wiring, designing circuit diagrams in his head on the fly. Aisling spent some time with him learning to hotwire mechs from long-range. They'd practised on a GM Drivermech, the standard non-combat mechs used for moving heavy objects. The trick was to overload its reactor, triggering its safety mechanisms and forcing the mech to boot into safe mode.

Sophia, she'd met before. Turned out she looked older than she actually was; the Helian was only 150 kilohours old. Only just old enough to travel aboard a starship. She'd left Helios on a spaceship bound for Brink, wanting to see the rest of the universe. Upon arrival she immediately wished she hadn't left Helios. She'd gotten light-headed stepping off the shuttle, and not just because of the thicker atmosphere; Brink was far bigger than she'd ever imagined. Half of her wanted to go home, half of her wanted to stay away and try get used to it to prove that she was an adult now. Knowing that, given the opportunity, she'd likely board a ship back to Helios, she decided to remove that temptation and signed up aboard the first starship voyage she could – which happened to be the _Austraeus's _voyage to the freeport system. Helios, being the small colony it was, didn't often have merchants stop by to sell goods and thus Sophia learned to fix mechanical faults with the tools and materials she could find.

John was a nuclear physicist, so he was qualified to repair the _Austraeus's _reactors and main engine.

Samantha was an engineer and mechanic and was thus in charge of _inventing_ things on the fly to solve whatever problems the _Austraeus _was experiencing, unlike the mechanics whose job was to fix existing machinery that broke in-transit. Aisling, Nathan, Sophia and Bonerhead were then tasked with making whatever she came up with.

Philip was a theoretical physicist and was thus in charge of maintaining the _Austraeus's_ particle shields and legacy drive.

Together they made up Hangar Q's repairs and maintenance team.

* * *

The mid-flight turning commenced without a hitch. The _Austraeus_ shut off it's warp drives for 10 hours and burned its auxiliary engines to start its turn before burning them again to slow and stop its turn. She'd been burning her main thrusters the whole journey and had managed to come to a top speed of 225 kilometres per second (300 times the speed of light, given that her legacy drive multiplied her speed by four hundred thousand times). Now that she was facing the reverse direction she begin burning her thrusters again, a move that would decelerate her to a stop by the end of her journey at Venice 3.

A few weeks later, the captain's face appeared on their cabin's screen for a pre-recorded message after dinner.

"Attention, crew, this is your captain speaking. We're a third of the way through our voyage to Venice 3 and we'll be flying past Demeter at 1300 hours tomorrow. Keep in mind that all of you are operating on different time zones, so for most of you we won't actually be passing Demeter at your midday. If you're scheduled to work then, I've arranged for you to take a short break at that time. If you're asleep feel free to wake up to see it and sleep in a little to make up for the lost sleep. We'll be switching off the warp drive due to the gravitational disturbance, so we'll be cruising by at a lazy 150 kilometres a second.

That was a joke, by the way – 150 kilometers a second is still way too fast for any of you to get any good pictures. Most military ships have smaller fuel tanks than this ol' bird. She was built for colonising, they were built for stopping to refuel at Demeter. If you stay with the IMC you'll see the fleet if you travel on a military ship bound for the frontier, but not today.

Otherwise, I'd like to thank you all for a fantastic voyage, you've all been excellent. This is Captain Roberts, out."

Aisling couldn't care much for some unfocused pictures of Demeter, so she took her sleep-in. She knew something was up when Sophia rushed in to wake her at 700 hours.  
"Nghhh... what is it, Sophia?"  
"Demeter! It... It's gone!" she half-whispered, half screamed.

Aisling yawned. "What do you mean, it's gone?" she asked while stretching.

Baxter rushed into the cabin. "Get your ass out of the bunk, Aisling, the shit's just hit the fan."

"Whaaa...?" she mumbled as the information screen flickered to life.

"ATTENTION ALL CREWMEMBERS! This is Captain Roberts speaking!" blared loudspeakers throughout the ship.

"As of 1300 hours today our optical sensors have determined that Demeter has been destroyed. We don't know how, we don't know why, we don't know who survived. All we know is that what was once a planet is now an asteroid field.

Our goals are as follows:

One, to inform IMC command on core world Poseidon that Demeter has been destroyed and that military ships jumping to Demeter will not be able to refuel,

Two, determine the cause of this calamity and if it is still a threat to us,  
Three, to search for survivors and assist ongoing rescue efforts made by the locals, if any are taking place,  
Four, to evacuate as many civilians as possible to nearby safe worlds, or to the core worlds if necessary. This includes the civilian members of our crew.

We are aborting our shipping mission as of now. We may still drop into orbit around Venice but we are not going to attempt to load the _Austraeus_ with goods from the frontier.

However unlikely it may be, there is a possibility this disaster may have been caused deliberately. Given that this may be the result of militant action the _IMS Austraeus _has now been reclassified as a class four IMC warship. I regretfully am forced to declare martial law over this warship. You are now all soldiers of the IMC until we get you back home, and if we all work together, that will happen as soon as possible.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am IMC Captain John Roberts. It has been an honour serving with you. I pray that we can all make it back home in one piece.

Roberts, out."

Aisling was now completely awake.


	4. The plan

Hiya everyone,  
Chapter four, huh?!  
I'll do some formatting work in a minute; I'm gonna play a few games of Titanfall for now.  
I'm also doing a quick 3D-model mockup of the Austraeus which might be done in time for chapter five.

Otherwise,  
Happy reading!

* * *

The IMC regulars stayed somewhat calm, the civilian crew members flew into a state of panic and the officers on the bridge began making plans.

"Good morning, afternoon, evening and night officers," greeted Captain Roberts as the senior crew members of the _Austraeus_ entered the bridge. He paced as he talked. "Apologies for waking those of you who are scheduled to be sleeping right now, but as you may have heard this is an important matter."

He heard the last of the officers taking their seat and turned to face them. His sensitive ears had earned him the nickname 'Psychic John', and now it was his eyes that stared deep into the souls of his crew members. The green seemed to glow under the blue lights of the bridge, a glow that contrasted his unusually pale skin.

"Demeter has been destroyed," he began. "We don't know what by, but there's nothing but asteroids where it should be. The IMC can't send ships with jump-drives into the frontier any more and the Militia will know this whether they destroyed Demeter or not. They'll likely have capitalized on this. Demeter may not be the only IMC base to have fallen on the frontier.

We need to inform the IMC command that military ships jumping to Demeter are going to be either stranded with no fuel or ambushed by terrorists. We need to evacuate the civilians in our crew. And if possible we should set up a beachhead at Demeter or outpost 207.

I've never been in this kind of situation before. If any of you have any ideas on what we should do, now's the time to make them heard."

The bridge was silent for a moment. The tactician saw a chance to speak.

"Permission to speak, Captain."

"Granted, Johnson."

"Well," said tactician Johnson. "What if we were the Militia? If I were the leader of the Militia, regardless of whether or not I'd caused the destruction of Demeter, I'd strike as soon as I knew Demeter had fallen. I'd hit every IMC base on the frontier because I'd know that there wouldn't be any reinforcements coming to save the IMC. And I'd attack each base from the side closest to Outpost 207."

"Why?" asked Nina Soryuu, chief of navigation. "You'd have to go the long way around each planet – or perfectly time your jumps to land just behind each base. What's the point?"

"Because I'd want to scare the IMC out of their bases, make them run. I'd do each base the same way – lots of shock and awe. I'd fill the sky with ships, make the clouds rain Titans. And the moment the IMC ran, I'd follow them with a couple of ships and move the rest of my fleet to perform the same tactics on the next IMC base. I'd chase the IMC away from outpost 207, systematically fire a few missiles to keep them on their toes – and the moment they run out of fuel I'd fire my railguns at them."  
"Ah ha," chuckled Captain Roberts. "The Samson gambit."

"Enlighten me," requested Soryuu.

"Newton's second law of physics – things will continue moving at their current speed unless an outside force acts on them," explained battle specialist Jack Ireton. "That means a well targeted orbital railgun can snipe a battleship from the other side of the galaxy, and that a ship that's out of fuel can't apply a force to itself and thus can't dodge well targeted orbital railgun snipes.

IMC captain Samson Jordans was fighting in the Titan wars against a Militia fleet much larger than his own, but with less fuel. He lured the fleet out into open space with a corvette that the militant forces thought was carrying secret intel. After leading them on a wild goose chase, the militia had to stop as they only had enough fuel and Tritium remaining to warp back to their refueling station. Samson knew when the army would run out of fuel and thus predicted their course home, ordering his railgun artillery in orbit around an IMC base to open fire on their course in such a way that the projectiles would arrive as the enemy was warping through the area. Sure enough the enemy forces _did_ attempt to warp home along the path Samson predicted, and because they'd only just left enough fuel to warp home they didn't have any spare to avoid the artillery fire. The enemy fleet commander, Vivian Shri'lek was forced to decide between dodging the shots - but crashing into the militia's refuelling station because she didn't have enough fuel to slow down - or taking the artillery fire. She chose the latter and her entire fleet was obliterated - by railguns four systems away, mind you.

Nowadays, The Samson gambit refers to any tactic relying on the enemy running out of fuel."

"Tactics the Militia would do well to utilize, considering that Demeter has fallen," added Roberts. "Johnson, you were saying?"

"Yes, Captain. I'd try and force the IMC forces to flee and waste their fuel reserves, and then train my artillery cannons at their position the moment they run dry."

"In that case," asked Soryuu, "are there _any_ IMC forces left on the frontier?"

"We don't know for certain," replied Johnson, "but if there are, they'll be at the last base to fall, Outpost 207.

It has the facilities to repair ships, fuel reserves to refuel ships, ammunition to resupply ships, and some enormous stationary defense cannons to take down any enemy ships that show up. Any ships with the capability to warp and commanders smart enough to order them to do so will have abandoned their posts and jumped to outpost 207. Geologists – how long has it been since Demeter was destroyed?"

A tall, thin man with a straggly beard answered. "Judging by the radiation from it's core, we'd estimate between 2000 – 3500 hours."

"Great," muttered Johnson. "If anything, the IMC will be holding off the Militia at outpost 207, and I'd say they're probably running low on supplies. If 207 falls, the Militia will _own_ the frontier. It'll be nigh on impossible for the IMC to take it back.

We have some unique opportunities. The Militia _doesn't know we're coming_. They have absolutely _no clue_ that we're here. They expect IMC ships to be holed up at outpost 207 or to be arriving fuel less at Demeter. Speaking of which, that's another thing I'd do if I were leading the Militia – set up an ambush at Demeter, or at least keep it under surveillance. We've just avoided any such ambushes.

We can inform IMC command at the core worlds that Demeter is destroyed. The Militia will be sniping comms probes the moment they leave outpost 207 – but we're not _at _outpost 207.

We can trade with the settlers of the frontier to acquire resources to resupply our allies at outpost 207 with. We can find food and small ammunition at Venice 3, Fuel at Carlyle. We might even be able to purchase frigates and destroyers and space-space ammunition from Kodi Industries on Sorian. If we warp into outpost 207 with all that we might be able to hold the militia off until reinforcements come from Poseidon.

"Sounds good," replied Roberts.

"For now, we'll adjust our current course and drop out of warp near Venice 3's star, Solvenice, instead and use it to slingshot us towards Venice 3. We'll arrive about 30 hours later but it'll look like we came from New Tokyo instead of the core worlds. From now until we arrive at Solvenice we should direct all crew members to disguising the _IMS Austraeus, _painting new identification marks, etcetera. She's one of the two largest ships in existence, both of which belong to the IMC – we'll stick out like a sore thumb otherwise. We can shorten her by removing one of our centrifuges and some of the empty fuel tanks – even if we only cut off a few hundred metres we can claim that we're merchants from New Tokyo. From now on, we should travel under a new name. Any ideas?"

Mission specialist Ashley Stone raised a hand. "The TKY _Shikinami_?"

"I like it," said Johnson, nodding his head. "From now on, we're the TKY _Shikinami_. Anyway, continuing with what I was saying;

When we arrive at Venice 3 we'll deploy five teams to the surface.

Team one will be spies, searching for information on what happened at Demeter, where the IMC is, where the Militia is, etcetera.

Team two will acquire four comms probes and deploy three - one to Demeter, to scan for Militia ambushes, one to outpost 207 to scan for IMC presence, and one to Poseidon to inform them of Demeter's destruction and of anything team one has learned. When we get a reply from the two scanning probes team two will deploy the fourth comms probe to Poseidon to tell them what the scanning probes found. Hopefully Venice 3 won't be sniping comms probes.

Team three will acquire a shuttle and warp to Carlyle, where they'll take over the refueling control stations.

Team four will acquire a shuttle and warp to the Kodi Industries factory on Sorian where they'll purchase or steal as many spaceships and as much ship-ship ammunition as possible. Frigates, destroyers – hell, cruisers if they can find them. _We will need them _if we are going to be any help to our comerades at outpost 207.

Team five will purchase food, ammunition, weapons, body armor. Titans, if any, are being sold at the markets. If the IMC is present at outpost 207, the militia will be laying siege to outpost 207. This means dropships, this means enemy grunts, spectres, pilots and titans on the ground trying to take out our ground-orbital cannons. We will need to defend them. When team five is finished, they'll return to the _Shikinami_.

In addition, we'll allow all of our civilian crew members to leave our service and take refuge on Venice 3. We'll pay them everything they're due and tell them how to get a transport home. Even if we are destroyed at least the IMC's image will improve among the core worlds. 'We take care of our crew' is a good message for people to hear. We'll also offer to double the pay of any crew member who stays with us – because we'll be in need of crew.

As soon as team three has captured Carlyle's refueling controls we'll drop into orbit around Carlyle and suck the planet dry. I'm almost certain that there will be IMC ships at outpost 207 and they _will need fuel_. We will take as much as we can carry, team three will jump aboard.

After Carlyle we'll warp to Sorian quickly to meet up with team four. We'll then warp to outpost 207, team four will follow within our warp distortion. Team one and team two will purchase a shuttle on Venice 3 and warp to outpost 207 such that we arrive at the same time.

On the off-chance that teams one and two find that there are no IMC ships at all on the Frontier all teams will abort their missions and return to the _Shikinami _except for team three. The _Shikinami _will warp to Carlyle, we'll suck Carlyle dry and warp home.

Sound good?"

"Why do we have to steal fuel from Carlyle?" asked someone.  
"They're a tiny refueling station and refueling a superfreighter like us would take almost everything they've got. That's bad for their business, they don't want to have to turn away other customers. Gives them a bad reputation. _Usually_ we'd just buy enough fuel for a warp to Demeter, but today's not a usual day."

"I like the plan," mused Captain Roberts. "Johnson, I want you to put together a scenario. Run your simulations, do everything it takes to get this plan prepared. Tell me when you're done. Ms. Soryuu, set a course for Venice 3 that orbits Solvenice first. Thorick, tell the engineers, the builders, the architects, the grease-monkeys – hell, tell everyone you can to start disguising the _IMS Austraeus_. We've got to _become_ the _Shikinami_ as soon as possible. Ms. Stone, put together the five teams and command centres for each one. Ladies and gentlemen, I'll be frank.

We're outnumbered. Out gunned. Totally unprepared – hell, it's a miracle we're got all the spare frontier cash we're carrying, I don't know what we'd use to trade without it. But we're here, and the Militia don't know it. If we pull this off, we just saved the Frontier, and drinks are on me. Lets get to work."


	5. The Titans

**Note: Outpost 207, based on the lore in the actual game, may refer to _just _the base we play on, _or_ the entire moon. In this fanfiction, "outpost 207" refers to the entire moon. Thus, Tactician Johnson believes that the IMC will have fallen back to the _moon _and will have control over it. The IMC isn't _so_ screwed that they can only control the buildings in the map we play on in Titanfall.**

* * *

"Detonating the primary charges!" called Sophia through the radio in her helmet. "Three! Two! One! MARK!"

Two hundred high-explosive charges detonated simultaneously in the supports of the rear centrifuge. A millisecond later the alloy surrounding the charges turned to molten slag, and with no oxygen in space for it to react with, it just formed into balls of red-hot metal and floated away. Some of the balls bounced off the end of the ship, the light borium armour insulating the _Austraeus _from the molten alloy's heat.

Aisling and the rest of the mechanics and engineers had undone most of the bolts securing the enormous composite ring to the ship – well, they had help. Five all-purpose industrial mechs floated with the engineers around the Austraeus's hull.

"Firing the secondary charges!" called Aisling. "Standby for centrifuge detachment! Three! Two! One! MARK!"

A set of smaller charges detonated on the bow-side of the centrifuge ring, pushing it free of the ship and into space in front of the _Austraeus, _and it slowly drifted ahead. Like the Austraeus it was still travelling ridiculously fast towards Solvenice – 139 kilometres per second, to be precise – but _unlike_ the Austraeus, it didn't have a nuclear engine to steer it away from the sun or slow it down to orbital speeds. With any luck nobody would ever know that the _Austraeus – _or rather, the _TKY Shikinami_, according to the fresh stencilling on her hull – ever had a second centrifuge.

A man drifted toward Aisling, jetpack flaring to slow him down.

"Hows it going, Aisling?" he asked.  
_That's Daniek's voice,_ thought Aisling.  
"Alright," she replied. "It took us a while, but we finally got the centrifuge off. She's looking different already, huh?"

Daniek's jetpack fired again and he started to drift away from the _Austraeus_, taking it all in.

"Not bad, although the centrifuge bay could do with some cleaning up."  
"Yeah, I'll file down the edges of the mount with one of the mechs later."

"Wait, you can pilot a mech?" asked Daniek, surprised.

"Yeah, we used them back on Brink for large scale jobs. Its a lot easier to stick the barrel on a tank when you're one and a half stories tall. But those mechs are easy to operate. You've got a much harder job."

"Heh," laughed Daniek. "Well, titans aren't _thaaat_ hard to pilot. It's more the fact that there are other people trying to beat yours that makes it hard. Speaking of which, when you're done with the _Austraeus_, could you take a look at my Atlas? I think the reactor's playing up."

"Wait, you think you might be deployed?" asked Aisling, shocked. "I thought we were just -"

"Plans have changed. The Captain's been in the briefing room for hours and the Pilots," he pointed to himself with his thumb, "have just gotten a look at our orders. Yeah, we might get deployed. But dropping the Titans? Unlikely. Roberts wants a couple of teams in plain clothes on the ground to buy some shuttles, that's all."

"Oh, okay. Better safe than sorry with your Titan, though. I'll be done in a couple of hours, where's your titan stored?"

"Bay four."  
"Okay, see you there."

* * *

"Good news," greeted Daniek as Aisling drifted into the Titan hangar. "You're off the hull conversion team."

"What do you mean?" asked Aisling, confused. Hull conversion was top priority; the _Austraeus_ had to be disguised as soon as possible. "We've only just removed the rear centrifuge."

"Well, remember those orders the Pilots just got?"

"You mentioned them..."

"The Captain wants Titans fully prepped and ready to drop at a moment's notice, and we've decided we want you to lead the prep team."

Aisling gave him a confused look. "I've never even seen a Titan before. Well, not a real one, anyway."

"Neither has any other mechanic aboard this ship. Hell, we'd never even considered deploying the Titans when planning this voyage. And you seem to be able to figure out how things work. You'd never fixed a coffee machine before yesterday, right?"

"Yeah, but I understood vaguely how a coffee machine works," protested Aisling as Daniek took her by the arm and gave her a gentle push towards the Titan bay – a push that resulted in Aisling drifting a full 20 metres. He leapt after her as she rolled through the air.

"You mentioned a few hours ago that you'd operated mechs before," countered Daniek with a grin. "What kind of mechs?"  
"Uhh... GM Drivermechs, an Exia, a Dynames -" she counted. "Bonerhead would be much better at this! He knows how they operate, hell, he can hotwire a mech!"

"Then get him on the team!" Daniek said as Aisling's feet made contact with the ground.

"I'm saying he should be the leader _of_ the team!" she protested as he landed in front of her.

Daniek grabbed her shoulders, turned her to face -

A Titan.

An enormous hulking mass of metal and plastic and carbon fibre.

It took the breath out of her small lungs.

It stood at around 4.5 metres tall. Its feet the size of an automobile's wheels, two toes like enormous pincers grasping the ground. Ankles popping backwards unnaturally to serve as suspension, supported by twin electromagnetic rams. Lower legs angled forward, plated thick with Borium, electrical wiring snaking between the armour and fluid compressors like veins. Knees as thick as oil barrels, connected to the upper legs by thick metal bracing. Behind each knee lay a hydraulic ram, holding the Titan up.

Its hips were an enormous curved hunk of solid metal, protecting a small portable fusion reactor. Its body was plated with more Borium, supported by yet more electromagnetic rams, entry door held open to reveal the cockpit. Plated with the thickest armour the titan had, enough to allow someone inside to temporarily forget the world around them. The seat was in the middle, atop a small hill of explosives capable of shooting the pilot 300 metres straight up. Behind its rear armour sat a pair of rockets,

A hole in the top of the cockpit the width of the chair penetrated through the Titan's broad shoulders, on which were mounted hydraulic-driven arms each the size of a battering ram.

Then its head. A port for cameras and sensors, set in its shoulders, just above its chest.

Shaped like a man – well, just like any other mech – but built like a tank. Not for comfort, nor suspension. For speed, durability, and sheer strength. This was not a skeletal GM Drivermech, nor a cheap battlemech. This was -

"A Titan," said Daniek, interrupting Aisling's thoughts. "It doesn't matter how it's done, I need her ready to wreck shit if the shit hits the fan on the ground." He turned to face her, his gaze piercing. "Can you do it for me?"

"Okay... I'll see what I can do."  
"Thanks Aisling. Means a lot to me."

She glanced at him. He was still looking up at the Titan.

This was his machine, his tool. Aisling knew how much she hated being without her spanner and induction screwdriver; did Daniek get the same feeling when he was away from his Titan?

_He must trust me a lot to let me do repairs on his Titan._

"Well, I'll put together a team now. What exactly is wrong with it?"  
"She needs her joints to be oiled, ammunition refilled, hydraulic fluid topped up... all of which I can and will do myself. The real problem is that her right arm got hit by a shipping container while we turned around to slow down. That's what I'm worried about – arm needs to be bolted back onto her shoulder, wiring re-soldered, hydraulics reconnected, weapons integration system recalibrated. Once you're done with that, Jenni needs you to take a look at her Stryder. Bruce was doing some customization to his Ogre, and needs the outer armour welded back on. Jaggerjack wants his Atlas rockets refuelled – or wait, was it George... hell, refill all the rockets. Misha needs her reactor repaired or replaced, Rimjob wants -"  
"_Rimjob? _Who the hell is _Rimjob?!_" laughed Aisling.

"Ugh... long story, but I can assure you that no rim-jobs were given or received in the assignment of his nickname."

Aisling smirked. "Whatever. Can you tell them to write down their requests or come see me about them?"

"Sure. How long do you think it'll take?"  
"Well, you've just listed six pilots... how many do we have aboard the Austraeus?"

"Fourteen."

"Hmmm... yours will take, maybe six hours," Aisling counted on her fingers, "Bruce'll take three, assuming he finished the internal work, refuelling will take half an hour. Misha's reactor will take a day to replace, so, thirteen hours there... if four of you takes 22.5 hours, the fourteen of you should take... 70-80 hours of work. But we have to sleep as well... six days?"

"Ok, fair enough." He nodded. "I'll get the pilots to come down and let you know what they want done. Once again, thanks a million Aisling. You might just save our lives yet."

She smiled slightly, looked down at the floor. "Get some sleep, then. If you're going planetside, you'll need it."

"Sleep?" he looked at her as if she'd said something weird. "We're _pilots, _Aisling. We don't need _sleep, _just stim."

She raised an eyebrow and he laughed. "Alright, I will. See you later, 'ling."

He leapt towards the doors of the Titan bay and she turned and hid her face.

'Ling was her parents' pet name for her. She hadn't expected to be called something cutesy like that on this voyage.

_Am I blushing?!_

_Get a grip, Aisling, _she thought, before leaping at the intercom mounted on the wall. "Sophia? Can you come to the Titan bay? Okay, come as soon as possible. I'll explain when you get here, see you soon."


	6. The teams

Do people still read this D:

* * *

_I need to come up with five teams for the missions on the ground. What kind of people do we need? Hell, what kind of people do we have?_

_Team one are spies. We don't need them to be armed, or particularly skilled – gossip about IMC remnants may be common gossip on the streets. One Pilot to supervise the others, maybe ten of our soldiers, and a couple of our traders to help teach the soldiers to blend in?_

_Then there's team two, who have to acquire probes, launch them sneakily, and then hideout till extraction. That's obvious; I'll find four of our soldiers who trained in guerrilla warfare for team two._

_Team three is going to be taking over a refueling station. As much as I'd like to send an army and have a battle of attrition, we don't have that many troops. We'll need multiple pilots, a large force of soldiers and a hacker or two, maybe even a couple of mechanics or engineers._

_Team four – oh dear fuck, team four. I'd prefer to purchase the ships from Kodai industries, but if anything goes sour and they find out we might be IMC they'll close up shop instantly. Worst case scenario we'll have to steal the ships. We'll need mechanics, grease-monkeys, engineers, hackers, and a small army to defend them. Hell, we're going to be needing a small army to fly all those ships to outpost 207. It might be worth getting an AI to pilot those ships instead of training all of our soldiers – the basic starship operation course just isn't going to cut it here. _

_Finally there's team five. They're going shopping. To be honest I think we should split team five in half – team 5A, made almost entirely of traders with a Pilot and soldier or two mixed in, for buying innocent goods like food and ammunition, and team 5B, with one trader and a couple of our mercenaries and Pilots for purchasing the body armor, guns and Titans. _

_And then there's the issue of extraction. I think its almost impossible for us to NOT blow our cover at some point in these missions – wait, it doesn't actually matter if we do! We're warping to Carlyle after this and then to outpost 207, we'll be blowing our cover anyway. What if we do a hotzone extract? We could have teams one, two and five all meet at one point, drop the Titans and an extraction dropshi – shit, we need to get the Titans out of there, it's not like we have many spares. _

She stood up, left the cabin and poked her head into the women's bathroom. "Dokes?"  
"Yo?" the African-American woman was in her pajamas, toothbrush in mouth.

"Know of any good Mechanics aboard the ship?"

"Not off the top of my head, no..."

She looked at her communicator. "Let me check with Overwatch," she muttered, entering a command to the _Austraeus's _AI with one hand, brushing her teeth with the other. "What do you a mechanic for?"

Ashley grimaced. "We need a mechanic for the strike team on Sorian. We're going to _try_ purchase the ships from Kodai industries, but if worst comes to worse we might just have to steal them. If that happens I want to have a mechanic on the ground."  
"Fair enough. In that case, Bones Deen says he can hotwire a ship..."  
"Can we confirm that? I need to be sure I can rely on him if the shit hits the fan."

"I'll give him a test later. Anything else?"

"Yeah, we'll need to support the Titans on Sorian. Is Deen any good with a battlemech?"

"Well... Ms. Brand might be better at that. She's working Titan maintenance right now."

"She can repair a Titan? Confirmed?"  
"She _seems_ to be doing an alright job of it..."

"Where can I meet them?"  
Dokes spat the toothpaste into the sink and turned on the tap, (some sorry excuse for) water slowly floating into the sink due to the low gravity. "Let me check both their schedules. Lets see... Oh, Brand and Deen are working in the Titan hangar tomorrow at central time 300 hours."

"Thanks a million, Dokes. How's the hull conversion coming along?"  
Dokes smiled. "Slowly, but we'll be done by the time we hit Solvenice's probe field."

Most colonized planets deploy a cloud of warp signature detector drones in a ring in high orbit around their star. The drones are usually programmed to scan for incoming warp signatures 24/7. If a drone discovers an incoming warp signature, they interface with their neighbor probes to ensure that only one drone sends a comms probe back to the colonized planet, warning the planet that there is a starship arriving at the star system.

Ashley nodded, smiled. "Great. I'll be glad to just get off the frontier alive."  
"I know what you mean."

* * *

Aisling awoke, went through her morning routine and reported to the Titan hangar to finish up the repairs to Misha's Ogre – and found five people waiting for her. The first she recognized; it was Dokes, then there was Nathan, Sophia and Bonerhead – but the fifth; she'd never seen before. T'was a tall dark-haired woman wearing IMC bridge uniform. Sunglasses covered her eyes.

" 'Afternoon, Aisling," Dokes greeted cheerfully.  
"Still morning for me, Dokes," Aisling replied carefully. "Who are you?" she asked the other woman carefully.

"Mission specialist Ashley Stone," introduced the woman. "I see you're good with the Titans."

"Well, I'd be nothing without my team."  
"Here's the thing, Aisling," said Stone, looking her in the eye, "We've planned for five teams to land on Venice 3 to perform a series of tasks – spying, collecting supplies, et cetera. We're going to need some mechanics to go planetside, and, given the possibility of titan deployment, your team are the perfect people to do it. In short, we'd like to put you through a three-month basic combat training course over the next three weeks and deploy you, Nathan, Sophia and Bonerhead with infantry escorts to Venice 3. Do you accept?"

Aisling opened her mouth, closed it, then said, "let me think about that for a moment. Wait, no. Tell me more about what I'd be doing on Venice 3."  
"We need to send six mechanics to Venice 3. Two will take a shuttle to Carlyle with a platoon of spec-ops soldiers to take over a refueling port. The other four will take a shuttle to Sorian and inspect the ships we're going to purchase from Kodai industries before networking them with Overwatch. If necessary, we may need the mechanics on Sorian to steal the ships instead."

"Well. So, not the usual kind a' grease-monkeying."  
"No. Not at all." Stone removed her sunglasses. "Your team is the best we've got. If we're going to have any chance of this mission succeeding, we need your help."

The five looked at her, waiting for a response.

"Oh, fuck it," muttered Aisling. "But, in exchange, I want you to promise me something. Two things, in fact."  
"Go on."  
"First, that all civilians deployed to Carlyle and Sorian will be protected by IMC soldiers and pilots at all times. Hell, I want Titans ready to be deployed."  
"Of course."

"Second, I want to change my payment contract. In the event of my death, I want the IMC to look after my family. I came on this voyage to support my parents and my siblings. If I die, I want my pay doubled and sent to them _immediately_."

"Let me check if I can do that." Stone turned around, placed her communicator by her ear. "Overwatch, I'd like to make a change to Aisling Brand's contract. Patch me through to the legal team."

A few seconds later, she turned to face Aisling again.  
"We can try. Your initial contract is being stored on Brink. If you die but the _Austraeus_ returns to the frontier or is in a position to send a comms probe to the core worlds, we'll include make the changes to your contract, but you must understand that if the _Austraeus_ is destroyed and the IMC defeated, we may not be able to change your contract."  
"I understand and accept, as long as the _Austraeus _makes every effort to honour this."  
"Very well. Then, you will join the strike team?"

"If I do, will the IMC be able to evacuate the civilian members of her crew home to Brink sooner?"  
"I believe so, yes."  
"Then I'm in."

Nathan smiled at her, raised an eye. "I didn't believe for a second you wouldn't, Ling."

_There it is again_, thought Aisling.

"I shall go too!" roared Sophia, perhaps slightly louder than she intended.  
"Aw, fook 'et," muttered Bonerhead. " 'If to' gurls are goin', es' not leik I can' jus' sit out. Coount me in."

"Excellent," said Stone with a smile. "When will you be finished preparing the Titans?"  
"By the end of tonight."  
"Then report to Battle Specialist Jack Ireton at hangar D tomorrow at Central time 1100 hours. Will that be okay?"  
Aisling chuckled. "That's 1700 hours for us, Ms. Stone. We could have a sleep in."


	7. She didn't actually want to die

2091 hours into its voyage, dots began appearing on the _Austraeus's_ Long Range Detection systems.

"Warp signiature detector drones located!" called the LRD operator.

"As expected," muttered Captain Roberts to himself as he paced the Bridge. "Begin broadcasting prepared radio chatter, along with our specifications."  
"The faked specs, for the _TKY Shikinami?_" asked the chief of communications.  
"Indeed."

"Broadcasting radio chatter."

The _IMS Austraeus_ began to broadcast the usual identification that all ships send when entering a star system, with a few lies mixed in with the truth.

* * *

_TKY Shikinami  
__Designation: New Tokyo Superfreighter  
__Assembled 2094  
__Length: 3212 metres  
__Height: 603 metres  
__Width: 603 metres  
__Mass: 183 million tons  
__Maximum acceleration: 0.6742 metres per second (Large NFu Mass Driver MN02342123)  
__Warp drive compression: 20,000 times (General Physics Incorporated MN0253)_

* * *

The faked identification information had been planned over the last month to generate the least possible suspicion about the _IMS Austraeus's _true agenda.

"Sir, Warp signiature detection drones are giving us a yield signal. They're going to make way for us."  
"Excellent." Roberts continued to pace. "Whats our distance from Solvenice?"

"Overwatch says 4400000 kilometres, Sir," called Nina Soryuu.

"Speed?"  
"2.4 kilometres per second, Sir."

"Deceleration?"  
"We're burning our engines at 0.6742 metres per second squared, Sir. Overwatch is telling me that's too much and that the engines are overheating, but it's wrong. We can decellerate faster than usual because we lost some mass disguising the _Austraeus's _hull."

"Okay then, time till orbital burns?"

"Sixty hours, Sir."

"Very well. Notify the crew that we'll be slingshotting around Solvenice in sixty hours, and – what, arriving in orbit around Venice 3 in a ninety?"  
"Yes, Sir," Soryuu answered. "I'll notify the crew now."  
"Hold on – Ms. Soryuu, where are you from?"  
"Sir? Poseidon. Why -"

"Ethnicity?"  
"Japanese. Sir, why do you -"

"Ms. Soryuu." Roberts gazed deep into her eyes. "When we arrive in orbit around Venice 3, the traders are going to shit themselves with excitement. We are one hell of a big ship, and they'll be expecting to sell their merchandise like never before. They'll want to get cosy with the captain, make our acquaintance. Don't you think they'll be slightly suspicious if they find, well, a pasty white european commanding a ship coming from New Tokyo, a japanese settlement?"

Roberts waited a second before continuing. "My point is, Soryuu, we need someone Japanese to pretend to be the captain. You're the chief of Navigation. You're a leader – albeit, of a smaller team, but still. You've spent a lot of time at the bridge of this ship. And you're Japanese. If you pretend to be captain, we might just fool these guys."

"Sir. I... well, this..." she mumbled, surprised and shocked.

"Please, Ms. Soryuu," he pleaded, bowing his head low. "Will you pretend to be our captain?"

She heard herself saying "Yes, Sir."

"Thank you, Ms. Soryuu," he said solemnly. "Overwatch, inform the uniform store that - aw, hell. Overwatch, inform general supplies to begin fabricating New Tokyo uniforms for everyone aboard this ship, starting with the people most likely to be seen by the Venice public. In addition, we'll need a captain's uniform for Ms. Nina Soryuu and a vice-captain uniform for myself. Use the sizes listed in our personal files."

He turned to Nina. "_Captain,_" he said, with the slightest hint of a smile on his lips, "I'd like you to address the crew. Tell them that you are going to be pretending to be captain. In addition, inform them that they need to change out of their New Tokyo uniforms into plainclothes, until their New Tokyo uniforms arrive."

"Yes, Si- I mean, Vice-Captain Roberts," she replied.

* * *

Sweat poured down her face and bullets whistled past her right air as Aisling ducked behind a building.

"Com oon out, lassie!" roared Bonerhead from behind the building. "Wher ayre yeh?"

_Bullshit he doesn't know I am, _thought Aisling. _He can probably hear my heart beat._

A soldier – or grunt, as command tended to call them – rounded the corner. "I found he-" he yelled excitedly before a bullet from Aisling's suppressed Smart Pistol made a neat hole in his head.  
_Shit, now Bonerhead knows where I am. I gotta move!_

She reached into her utility pouch, found an Arc grenade. The last she had left. She squeezed the handles on the grenade together, noted the "click!" that emanated from within, jumped out from behind cover, lobbed it at where she thought Bonerhead might be, and sprinted toward the next building. Tugged at the door handle, pulled it open. Punched the grunt inside with her left hand, pistol-whipped him with her right before pulling the Smart Pistol to her eyes and launching a shot through his grey matter. She sprinted up the stairs of the building, observed the visual artefacts that indicated that yes, this was just a simulation, and that yes, stubbing your toe on the top stair still hurt like a bitch.

She stumbled onto the balcony, trying to ignore her toe, pulled the Smart Pistol to her eye to try locate her foe. Lines flicked across her visor, indicating that the pistol had locked onto enemy troops and she fired. Somewhere inside the _Austraeus's_ computer, four processes had just been terminated.

But not her. She was still 'alive', as were Nathan, Bonerhead and around twenty soldiers all trying to use the skills they'd learnt over the past two weeks to improve their chance of success if they ever ended up in a _real_ combat situation. This was the final test – a 70 hour long Free-For-All combat simulation in a virtual city, fighting against each other and increasingly large waves of computer-controlled infantry. They'd been told they were not expected to survive to the end, that this was designed to see _how long they could last_, not _if_ they could last. The simulation had started out easy enough – just a few unorganised computer-controlled grunts scattered here and there – but now they were more organised.

The fifty trainees had started out in a dropship that began to drop each person off at random points in the city. The ship was filled with all sorts of trainees – a few civilians (Aisling, Nathan, Sophia, Bonerhead, John the nuclear physicist) – and a few IMC soldiers who were simply trying to step up their game. Evans had given her a nasty grin, pointed to her own eyes and then Aisling's as if to say _you're mine, bitch,_ before backflipping out of the dropship. Aisling got set down in a park surrounded by tall metal buildings.

She and the other civilians got the expensive Smart Pistols, the fast-track way to victory in combat. The soldiers were being trained with R-101 carbines and EVA-8 shotguns – more difficult to master, but more efficient on the battlefield.

_As well as, like, a gazillion times cheaper._ Packing an AI into the space of a pistol capable of calculating targeting vectors in real time was no small feat. Someone had told Aisling that the newer models would do calculus now.

The thing that Aisling hated about the Free-For-All was that _everyone_ was out to kill her. The other trainees were out for her blood – Evans especially – and the computer-controlled soldiers worked as a team to track down everyone, gradually growing in numbers until survival was impossible. All Aisling wanted was a place to sleep and now Bonerhead had trapped her. There would be no sleep until she'd escaped, killed him or been killed.

_Lets hope he gets shot by an NPC spectre_, thought Aisling. She peered out the window. A three-man NPC grunt patrol was coming down the street, systematically kicking down the doors to each house and leaping inside to shower the unfortunate occupants with shotgun pellets.

She decided to solve this problem like all problems – look at the problem, look at her resources, find a way to connect the two. In this situation, being calm would be her ally.

First, the smart pistol.

Second, the spanner she'd found in a garage.

Third, and should have been listed second, the ammunition for the smart pistol.

Fourth, a crowbar.

Fifth, the bookshelf and the books on it.

Sixth, the length of rope in the corner.

Seventh, a shotgun and three shells she'd picked up off a dead grunt back when it was still safe to be on the streets.|

Eighth, the windows and the blinds that covered them.

And so, she worked.

Extracted the shotgun shells from the shotgun, bent the floorboards out of the floor with the crowbar. Out came three nails. She shot the drawcords of the curtains with her silenced Smart Pistol, tied the shotgun shells to the nails. A stack of books came off the bookcase and were placed in the gap under the floor. The nails with the shotgun shells on them went on the books, and the floorboards went back on top – jutting out a centimetre higher than before. She stepped back, admired her handiwork, and relieved herself in the bathroom. Washed her hands, threw 'water' over her face, shook her hair out. Even in war, there was no shortage of recycled piss.

_I need a haircut. And shit, do I really look like that?_

She rubbed the dirt out from under her eyes – habitual, given her Brink childhood – and realised that her eyes were black from a lack of sleep.

_These simulators are bloody realistic._

_Wait, how did I drink that water?_

When taking a simulator for an extended period of time, the user would enter the simulator naked, bar a pair of VR goggles, a series of electrodes, a breathing mask and a cup around the user's genitals, in case they did need to 'relieve themselves'.

_Perhaps the water came through my breathing mask?_

There was a bang at the door as one of the grunts kicked down the door, a second bang as the door landed on the floorboards, pushing the bullets down on the nails and firing them upward, and a "Shit, it's boobytrapped!" as the computer-controlled grunt patrol realised what had just happened and immediately switched to their "cautious" subroutine. Aisling's palm hit her face, she was well and truly screwed now. There was a third bang – probably a shotgun blast into a wall, to check if anyone was behind. Then quiet.

Aisling slowly inched towards the bathroom door, smart pistol in hand.

_Fuck it. If I die here, I get to leave the simulator and get a decent night's sleep. And a meal. Fuck yes, a meal. And a shower. And a proper toilet! Holy hell, real life is heaven!_

She stopped at the edge of the door, closed her eyes, counted to ten, and leapt out the door to find herself staring down the barrel of a shotgun before realising that she didn't actually want to die.


	8. The briefing

This chapter is huge. Sorry. I promised I'd have the _Austraeus / Shikinami_ at Venice 3 by chapter 8, so I had to write a lot to keep my promise :D

Anyway, review, critique, and enjoy! Knowing that people are reading this keeps me writing it. You can reach me on reddit at u/akucera .

Also, a note. A 'Squad' is a team of four to eight soldiers. A platoon is fifteen to thirty soldiers.

* * *

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"Truce?" she asked hopefully.  
"Sure," Nathan replied, and she dropped to her knees in relief.

"Bonerhead's somewhere out there," she whispered, motioning to the buildings.  
"I know," he whispered back. "Wanna go take him out?"

Her eyes widened slightly, mouth opened into a disbelieving smile. "He'll _destroy_ us!"

"_W__e've got Smart Pistols_." Nathan motioned to his, pointed it to his eye. "If we_ both_ lock onto him we can kill him _faster_ than he can lock onto us! Worst case scenario, one of us dies and the other kills Bonerhead."  
"Okay then. We have to find him first, though."

A bang resounded from somewhere about two streets away. Perhaps Bonerhead was waiting there.

Nathan motioned towards the door and Aisling nodded. Nathan moved slowly down the staircase with Aisling covering his rear, their red armbands indicating that for this simulation they were on the same team.

They reached first floor of the building scanned the street through the door-frame. Aisling could hear... _something, _outside. Perhaps bonerhead could be waiting around this corner. Aisling knelt on the ground, watched the fingers on Nathan's left hand.

Three fingers outstretched

Two fingers outstretched

One index finger

They ducked around the door-frame and raised their pistols as one.

* * *

The 'dead' players stood in a line in front of a wide display screen.

"John," said Jack Ireton, battle specialist and their coach, eyebrows raised, "I'm surprised and a little disappointed."  
"Sir?" the nuclear physicist asked.

"I mean, that frag was perfectly placed. _Perfectly._"

The soldier who'd been killed by it couldn't help but agree. That didn't stop her from giving John dirty looks, though.  
"And then you just had to go and trip over your own feet and get caught in the blast. Did you play any sport when you were a kid?"  
"Yes, Sir. Long-bat-ball."  
"They call it Cricket on Earth, civie. And I take it you were a bowler."  
"Yes, Sir."

"Heh, I used to play. A frag's a bit heavier than a cricket ball though."  
"Yes, Sir."  
"And cricket balls don't explode when you smash 'em a six."  
"Ye – I mean, no, Sir. Indeed they don't."

Ireton chuckled. "Other than that, you did alright. Just try hold the Smart Pistol a little steadier. Don't forget, you don't have to aim it much, just hold her still. If you do that, and don't trip up, you'll do just fine in a combat situation."  
"Yes Sir."

"Evans."  
She grunted, he frowned, sighed.  
"Look at me, Evans. I want to see the salute."  
She flicked her eyes up at him and put her hand by her forehead.

"Good. Now I want you to call me 'Sir'."

"Yes, Sir."  
Ireton nodded a couple of times. "Good. Good. Evans, I've said it a thousand times, and I'm going to say it again."  
"Yeah, yeah, Sir."  
"You already know what I'm going to say, don't cha."

"Yes, Sir – you know, you don't _have _to say it," she whined.  
"I'm going to say it anyway and you're going to bloody well listen. You're too... eager. Too arrogant. You rush in, thinking you're to best bloody soldier out there, that you could beat a member of the Ghost squad with an arm tied behind your back."  
Evans was still quiet.  
"But you're not. You're a fucking grunt, Evans. Just because you made it to Pilot training _doesn't mean you're a fucking Pilot._ You are not invincible, you're a brain atop fifty-something – or however fuckin' heavy you are – hunk of muscle, bones and guts. And you know what? You go 'POP!' when a bullet hits ya. You can't work miracles while you're dead! An' I hope you get that drilled into your skull before a bullet does! Understood?"

Her eyes twitched, his eyebrows raised.

"You're angry. I can see that," he whispered. Just loud enough for everyone to hear if they tried hard enough.  
She growled softly.  
"Do it. Hit me, I _dare _you."  
The fire was in her eyes now as she stared him down.  
"Hit me. Go on. Do it."  
The muscles in her right arm tensed.  
"Hit me. Try and prove to me with your strength that my message is wrong, and I'll show you how mortal you really are."

"Fuck you, Sir."  
"I love you too, Evans. You're an excellent shot, a fast sprinter, and almost as good with an arc grenade as ol' nuclear physikis – fuck it, I can't say that. Physisyst. Physicist. You're as good with an arc grenade as nuclear Physicist John over here. But 'cha know what? You died before he did because John stayed under cover and checked for hostiles with – look, I don't even know. John?"  
"I found a piece of glass that was slightly reflective, Sir."

"Fuckin' _genius_. And _you_, Evans, checked by _poking your head out from behind cover_."

"And guess what?! I found two guys there! And I shot them both! Two for one!"  
"And guess what?! You can't brag about your KDA when YOU GET CREMATED! GOT IT?!"

Evans breathed deeply, mumbled "Yes, Sir," and stormed out of the room.

Ireton shook his head and moved onto the next person, looked up at Sophia.  
"..."

"Uuuh... Sir?"

"DAMNIT WHY AM I SO BLOODY SHORT?!" he roared. Everyone jumped and everyone hit their heads after they connected with the ceiling a few seconds later.

He sighed, stood on his toes, and still had to look up. "For starters, try to crouch more."  
"Sir?" she mumbled. "What do you -"

"The fences in War Games are shorter than you think, Little Miss Giant. You got killed because someone saw your head from over a fence. Also, if you crouched it would make me feel better." He glanced at the ground and then back up at her face. "Anyway. You did alright. You need to trust the pistol a little more, and, I mean, don't lead your targets. Pistol does the work. Oh, and the other thing." He nodded. "Count – no, keep track of your ammunition. There's a readout on the sights of the pistol, but you should be counting the shot's you've fired so that, you know when to reload. If you're about to run out of ammo, reload, for fucks' sake! Well. Get behind cover first. You get the picture?"

She nodded.  
"Now say, yes Sir."  
"Ah! Um, Yes, Sir!"  
"Good on yah. Who's next?"

* * *

The door to the training hangar opened and in strolled Nathan and Aisling, laughing. She punched Nathan's shoulder.  
"Why'd ya have to shoot the 'nade, idiot?" she chuckled.  
"Well, it was gonna go off anyway – look, shaddup! It was a good grenade, okay?!"

"In all seriousness, though, Bonerhead's too bloody good at this. We'd have to manually target him to kill him fast enough."

"Manually target him?" smirked Nathan. "You can hardly hold the pistol straight."

"I could've lied down? Or something?"  
"_Lay _down," Nathan corrected. "We should have split up," he mused. "He can't target us both if we're not close to each other."

"There are other ways of avoiding Smart Pistol fire," began Daniek as he strolled up to the pair. "Nathan, Aisling," he greeted, trying to keep his voice consistent between names. "How've you gone?"

Aisling glanced at Nathan, smiled. "We did alright, but Bonerhead's a step above."

"We think we've got the hang of it, though," replied a grinning Nathan, shaking Aisling's shoulder.

She never really understood the male way of expressing oneself physically. The shake was unnecessary; she'd taken a year to before she could judge an appropriate shoulder-punch like she'd done earlier. This one felt like a "we did good, comrade" kind of shake.

"Good morning, afternoon, evening and night, crew," said the intercom suddenly, as the large television screens throughout the ship lit up to show a woman's head and torso. "As you are all aware, we will be arriving at Venice 3 in 45 hours. As we are disguised as a freighter from New Tokyo, Captain John Roberts has appointed me Captain of the TKY _Shikinami_. I will serve as a figurehead, meeting with traders and diplomats to ensure that we stay undercover for the duration of our stay around New Tokyo. When we depart for outpost 207 we will be blowing our cover and thus Captain John Roberts will be reappointed captain at that time. Thus, from now until then, I am Captain Nina Soryuu, and you are to address me as such. It has been an honour flying with you all."

"Huh?" asked Aisling, confused. "What was that about?"

"Roberts appointed some Jap chick captain for now," explained Daniek. "Makes our story seem a little more believable. I think he said" - he closed his eyes - "that 'it would be slightly suspicious if they find a pasty white European commanding a ship coming from New Tokyo'."

"Well," said Nathan, thinking aloud, "fair enough."

"Anyway," Daniek said, "Aisling, you should get some rest. And, uhh, you too – Nathan. There's a briefing for us in a few hours."

* * *

11 hours later Baxter, Evans, Je'Lai and Street were summoned to hangar A by Tactician Johnson and Battle specialist Ireton.

It seemed that they were not alone – hangar A, B, C, D and E had all been stripped down and refurbished as mission control centres. Large tables in the centre of each with holographic displays; the works.

"Afternoon, Ladies," greeted a tall blonde woman as the four arrived in Hangar A. "Mission Specialist Ashley Stone."

"Pleasures' ours," replied Baxter. "But its' morning for us."  
"Not where you're going," corrected Stone. "Take a seat." She motioned towards four seats around a table. Six men – two black skin, black hair, one Asian, black hair, one Caucasian, brown hair, two Europeans, blonde hair – were seated, all obviously interested in the woman – Russian, blonde hair – standing at the back of the room.

"Time for introductions. Everyone," said Stone, motioning to Baxter, "This is Private Christina Baxter and her squad – Ester Je'Lai, Virgo Evans, Natasha Street – from the 704th. And this is Orion and Stephen King," she pointed to the brothers, "Dominic Hu, Lawrence Wesley, Harry Monro, Eoin Ireton. And that," she motioned to the woman at the back, "is one of our Pilots. Her name is Misha."

_Aha, that's why they're all staring at her,_ thought Baxter. She sneaked a glance.

The woman wasn't especially tall. Her skin was pale white, hair pale blonde – eyes closed and thus colour unknown. The shape of her B breasts, thick legs, wideish hips and muscular arms was visible through her white tank-top and camouflage grey-green cargo pants. The obvious strength in the woman's legs hinted at her pilot training and light upper body confirmed it. She looked - _about 210 kilohours old. __Military age, old enough to be a pilot with a couple of years of experience._

Now the woman moved, unfolding her arms, opening her eyes a crack. _Grey blue._ She took a step forward towards the table.

"Meshon speshialist," - _Russian accent confirms her decent, _thought Baxter as Misha began to speak- "Just tell us what we're going to do."

"Yes, Ma'am. Tac six thinks that there may be some IMC remnants hiding out at outpost 207 and has come up with a plan for finding any such IMC forces on the frontier and reinforcing them. In order to collect intelligence, we're sending a team of soldiers and a pilot down to Venice 3. That team is you.

You'll be disguised as traders. Its common practice for trading ships to decline to trade until they've collected information about the planet they're in – our Intel on the frontier came from a ship that arrived at brink from the frontier just before we left. It's five point five kilohours out of date. So. We arrive at Venice 3, you guys go hunting for information. There will be companies that will sell you information packs of all notable happenings for the last two kilohours. That's what we want you to buy – a five and a half kilohour information pack would cause suspicion. All you've gotta do is find somewhere that will sell you general information, and buy it. Any questions?"

Orion raised his hand. "Yes, Ma'am. Why don't we just collect the information from the planetary infonet?"

"Good question. Using the local infonet would be cheaper and less dangerous than sending a team to purchase information from a seller. Unfortunately, trading ships like ours need more detailed information to make a profit on their goods or to find the cheapest merchandise, and thus most trading ships send a team to purchase information. We're sending you down not to be covert, but to keep up our cover. When pretending to be a Roman, do as the Romans do."

Orion nodded. "Fair enough, Ma'am."

"Ma'am," interrupted Orion's brother, Stephen, "The quote is actually, "When _in Rome_, do as the Romans do."

"Oh. Really?"  
"Yes, Ma'am."  
"Who cares?" asked Evans, slouching in her chair. "English is boring."  
"Thank you for your input, Evans," said Stone, and Evans rolled her eyes, avoiding Baxter's glare. "Are there any more questions?"

Ashley waited a few seconds. "Good. You've all been trained on information hunts before, I assume, so be ready with all necessary equipment to take a Goblin dropship to the surface in 33 hours. Dismissed."

* * *

With that, Stone proceeded to Hangar B. She'd anticipated the meeting with team A to take five minutes and thus had arranged for team B to meet her at Hangar B seven minutes afterwards. She'd timed it perfectly, the five men were just arriving now.

Gauntlet, Cornerstone, Crossguard and Hilt were odd, but that was to be expected of the spec-ops team – and then, of course, there was the Pilot Bruce. Stone was wearing a fresh-off-the-press New Tokyo uniform – so, no room for customization there – but she'd paid special attention to her hair that morning to ensure she looked radiant. In contrast, the five men in front of her – well, completely lacked contrast. Each of them was dressed in dull grey. All were of average height, all had brown eyes and brown hair cut in some generic style. While Stone's perfume, personality and hairstyle were all aimed at being attractive, each of these men were trying their hardest to be boring, unnoticeable and hard to remember as possible.

Exactly what a spec-ops team should be like.

Mission briefing for team B proceeded without a problem. These men knew what they were doing. They'd rest, conceal R-97 compact SMGs under their shirts, enter the decontamination chamber and board a Goblin dropship in thirty-three hours. They'd find comms probes and deploy them to Brink and Demeter's new asteroid field and then another to wherever team A said the IMC remnants would be hiding out – or, if there weren't any IMC remnants left on the frontier, they would simply await extraction. The Spec-ops team would acquire the probes, Bruce would scout ahead and help Team B _if_ the shit hit the fan.

* * *

Similarly, mission briefing for team E went well. Two squads of soldiers, a mechanic named Sophia, a nuclear physicist named John and the Pilot George would purchase food, what fuel they could find and ammunition from the markets of Venice before being extracted back to the _Shikinami_. They'd also acquire a shuttle to send back to the _Shikinami _and a large civilian transport, aboard which the civilian crew of the _Shikinami _could return to Brink if they chose to. Simple. George was there to keep team E safe.

_He'll do just fine. There__'__s nothing to go wrong, they're just going shopping __and shipping the supplies to us._

* * *

Then there was the briefing of team C, which took an hour and left Ashley exhausted afterwards. Even with Ireton helping her out this plan was sketchy. Team C was made up of a platoon of soldiers, the mechanic Bonerhead, the field engineer Samantha and the pilot Jenni. This team was to wait for team E to acquire a medium sized shuttle, load Jenni's Stryder - class titan, and then jump to the gas giant Carlyle, one system over, to steal fuel from a fuel refinery that had never been successfully robbed before.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," began Ireton. "There are two reasons why nobody has successfully stolen fuel or Tritium from Carlyle's refuelling station. Does anyone know why?"  
"Orbital defence cannons, Sir?" asked one soldier.  
"Correct. Carlyle has thirty-two orbital railguns flying with it. Anyone trying to set up a second orbital fuel dredging facility isn't going to last long with thirty two orbital railguns pointed at them. Anyone know why the orbital railguns hit so hard?"

Samantha raised her hand.

"Everyone, this is field engineer Samantha. She's a civilian, take good care of her. Yes, Samantha?"  
"Well," she began, "Is it because of the ion winds?"

"Care to elaborate?" grinned Ireton. "You're on the right track, keep going."  
"A battleship or cruiser can usually shrug off a few railgun rounds with its' shields," explained Samantha, "which require the ship to deploy a temporary field of ions around itself that ionize any projectiles about to hit the ship. The ionized projectiles can then be repelled, deflected or slowed by inducing a magnetic field around the ship – as you all know, like charges repel."  
"Good, good, keep going," encouraged Ireton.  
"But around Carlyle, you can't deploy an ion field around you because there are already so many ions blowing around. It's a gas giant, after all. Deploy an ion shield and they'll all fly straight into Carlyle's atmosphere, seeking oppositely charged ions."

"Damn straight. You can't deploy a shield for any more than a few seconds if you're orbiting a gas giant. And that means that Carlyle's orbital defence cannons hurt really, really bad. Nobody can set up shop around Carlyle, and nobody can steal fuel from Carlyle's fuel refinery.

Now, that's going to change. God is smiling upon us, ladies and gents, because in fifty hours' from now Carlyle is going to be on the opposite side of Solcarlyle from Venice."

Murmurs came from all through team C.

"Team E is going to acquire a shuttle for you," began Stone as she brushed her hair off her face. "You'll all help load a Stryder – class titan aboard, and then warp to Carlyle. With any luck, the light from your engines will be masked by Solcarlyle."

"This kind of solar arrangement only happens once every 15 kilohours," added Ireton. "The chances of them having some kind of emergency detection system for ships attempting this kind of manoeuvre? Well, _I _wouldn't have spent money on it."

"You'll drop into orbit around Carlyle at a _lower _orbital altitude than the orbital refuelling facility and attach to a gas pipeline. You'll then move up the pipeline slowly and use magnetic climbing grips to invade the refuelling facility. From there, you'll power down the orbital railguns and disable the locks on their fuel reserves. Avoid the guards, return to the dropship, await the arrival of the soon-to-be-our fleet from Sorian and refuel them. Finally, you'll board the dropship again and dock with a cruiser from our fleet, and we'll warp to reinforce any IMC remnants on the frontier."  
"If," interrupted Ireton, "our spy team finds that there aren't any IMC remnants on the frontier, you'll return to the _Shikinami_, refuel her, and we'll all warp back to Brink. Any questions?"

"How long will the warp take?" asked Samantha. 'Cos if we're taking an ordinary shuttle -"

"You're not," answered Ireton. "Carlyle is only half a light-year away. We're going to supply you with a X40 warp drive. And you're going to be burning modified engines the whole way."  
"Modified?"  
"Yes. Acceleration of 280 meters per second squared."

There was a brief silence.

"_What the hell?_" Samantha asked slowly. "Sir... that's 28 g's. Humans can only take 10-"

"Which is why you're going to be in cryo," countered Ireton. "Iceblocks can tolerate a higher acceleration. You guys are making the jump in three hundred and sixty hours."

"Oh. Well, if it works..."

"It'll work. Just leave it to us."

* * *

And finally there was the briefing of team D.

Their mission would be to warp to Sorian – AKA Venice 7 – aboard three shuttles and try to purchase or steal ships and military supplies from Kodai industries' manufacturing plant there. With the very real possibility that Kodai may not be willing to sell their ships, Ashley Stone had allocated team D the most resources and manpower. Two and a half platoons of soldiers, three Pilots – Daniek, Jaggerjack and Rimjob – two mechanics – Aisling and Nathan – and Philip the theoretical physicist. If the shit hit the fan, team D would be big enough to deal with it. The mission was relatively on paper but difficult in execution. Most of team D would stay in orbit with their shuttles powered down while physicist Philip, Pilot Jaggerjack and four soldiers would attempt to negotiate for the sale of Kodai's fleet. If Kodai refused, the orbital forces would drop with titans and they'd steal as many ships as possible.

And therein lied the problem. Stone had no idea what kind of encryption, operating systems or AI Kodai's ships used. Stealing them might be impossible. The initial plan was to load Overwatch onto the Kodai ships' AI cores – but that might not even be possible, or even worth doing. Overwatch was an AI designed for superfreighters, not for the frigates, corvettes, destroyers, cruisers (and battleships, if they were really lucky) they were planning on acquiring. If it really came down to it, they might have to pilot the ships manually – an idea that hadn't worked out favourably for a fleet for the past twenty years. This was a hurdle they'd have to tackle if they came to it.

Just as Stone left the briefing room, an alarm began ringing all throughout the ship and the television screens switched on to show Captain Soryuu's face.

"Good morning, afternoon, evening and night, crew. We are now 30 hours away from Venice 3. We will be performing minor adjustments to our course in two hours' time. Please ensure that all loose objects are secured to the _Shikinami_ and be ready for acceleration in all directions at various rates. You will be given sixty seconds' warning of any changes in our acceleration.

Please also ensure that you are ready for your missions, if you have been assigned to a mission team. That is all."


	9. The ship in the sky

"Orbital defense grid sighted, Ma'am!" called the deputy chief of navigation.

"ETA to orbit?" asked Captain Nina Soryuu.

"30 minutes, Ma'am!"

"Good." Soryuu turned to Vice-Captain John Roberts. "Vice-Captain, anything to add?"  
"Negative, Captain," Roberts smiled. "You're doing a fine job."  
"You were a fine Captain, Vice Captain."  
"I'm honored, Captain."

"I shall inform the crew that we're 30 minutes away from Venice 3, Vice Captain. Do you think you can manage the bridge while I'm gone?"  
Roberts laughed. "I think I can manage."

* * *

The TKY _Shikinami_ had just orbited Solvenice and was currently cruising toward Venice 3. All the meanwhile, the crew prepared for their missions.

* * *

Aisling and the rest of team D was to land at Venice 3's spaceport pretending to be traders. They'd acquire three shuttles, return to the _Shikinami, _resupply, then warp to Sorian. She, Nathan and Philip had spent the last two Austraeus-days with the rest of Team D – the pilots, and the IMC soldiers – getting to know each other, discussing command – Jaggerjack would lead – and battle strategy. The IMC soldiers were all armed with R-101 carbines and EVA-8 Shotguns. The three mechanics were armed with Smart Pistols – the easiest way to make a new soldier effective in combat – and data knives. The Pilots were armed with weapons they'd chosen and customized themselves.

Jaggerjack was quiet and kind. At a young age – back before he'd earned his nickname – his parents had been killed by terrorists. Jack had learned that peace was not a human right, nor did it merely come about by force of nature. Peace, Jack reasoned, was paradoxically a thing that society had to fight for.

_It took two people to kill my parents,_ thought Jaggerjack on day one of Pilot training. _I don't need to be able to take on an army. If someone had taken those two lives they'd have saved my parent's lives. If I can take two lives – if I can take the RIGHT two lives – I could save many more. _

And thus the 17 year old had asked the armory for a Longbow DMR sniper rifle with a 6x scope. The man had given him a funny look, as if to say, "Don't you want an LMG like everyone else?" and handed over the weapon a few seconds later.

Nathan, disbelieving his tale of peace and clean kills, had asked Jaggerjack "Oh really? How many kills have you gotten?" to which he had received the reply, "Twenty three."

Rimjob was a complete contrast to Jaggerjack's quiet maturity. He had asked the armory, "Give me the biggest, fastest, nastiest gun you've got," and received both a Spitfire LMG and a thump on the back from the Quartermaster. He'd earned his nickname performing a "Rim Job", in which he'd manually overridden the doors of a Goblin dropship, allowing him to jump out early onto the roof of a building and slaughter the snipers camped on the rim.

Daniek, Aisling had already met, but he still gave his life story to everyone else. Rich boy from earth, hated and ran away from his rich parents, joined the army, recommended for Pilot training. He accepted, but on the condition that he was paid as much as a grunt (which earned him the respect of all the Soldiers listening). "I don't care about the money. I care about being able to do something good for humanity and actually seeing it happen," he'd said to the IMC's accounting department.

* * *

Sophia was bound for Venice 3 as well – but she'd be staying there to purchase supplies with team E.

* * *

Team A was ready to go hunt out information. The soldiers all concealed carbines, SMG's and shotguns under their clothing, while Misha carried just a Hammond pistol.

"If ze shet hets ze fan," she'd said, "I'll call dawn mi Ogre. Mi Hemlock es inside."

"But Ma'am," Eoin Ireton had tried to argue, "It'll take five seconds to get here!"

"Yes," Misha glared, "Et well. I can handle feyve seconds." Pause. "Can't you?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Ireton replied. "Very well then..."

* * *

Team B had been ready from the start. Their SMG's were loaded – well, safeties on, – their pockets were filled with frag and arc grenades, their clothing was dark mottled gray.

* * *

Team C was as ready as they could be without the shuttle that team E was going to buy for them. The X40 warp drive and modified engines were sitting in a hangar ready to be fit to the shuttle, the cryopods and Jenni's Stryder were ready to be pushed aboard.

* * *

"Crew, this is Captain Nina Soryuu of the TKY _Shikinami_. We're dropping into orbit around Venice 3 in 10 minutes. Prepare for erratic changes in our acceleration as we make minor adjustments in our course. Landing parties, make your way to the Dropships, please."

* * *

"Ugh..." groaned a child in a clay building in Alpha, the largest and oldest city on Venice 3. "Mummy, do we _have _to?"

"Yes, Elizabeth, we do," answered her mother. "Daddy forgot to take his lunch. He can't come home now or he'll miss 11 o'clock!"  
"What's so special about 11 o'clock?" groaned Elizabeth, kicking her feet in the dust.

"Come on, darling. 11 o'clock is mid-day, he can't just pack up his stall now! He has to earn money for us!"

Elizabeth pouted. "Well, why don't you take his lunch to him? I can stay at home; I'm a big girl now."

"Darling, you're 70 kilohours -"

"I'm 72 kilohours old."

Her mother hung her head in her hands for a moment. Her pregnancy didn't make taking care of Elizabeth any easier. She sighed.  
"Oh, alright. But stay inside, okay? Call me if anything goes wrong!"

"Yes, mummy! Thank you!"

Elizabeth was happy now. Today was a _good_ day. The soldiers were gone from the streets – off to fight at some weird place called Hammo – which was good. She didn't have to ride in the hot hoverbuggy with Mum. She didn't have to get out of the hoverbuggy and walk through the no-fly zone to Daddy's stall. She didn't have to walk back to the hoverbuggy and fly back. No, today she was free.

She opened the windows; it was too hot inside. Well, it was too hot outside.

"Screw it!" she said happily, repeating a phrase she'd heard Daddy say when he didn't want to do something.

There was the FWOOOSHH sound and then the WHOOOOSH sound as Mummy took off in the hoverbuggy. Elizabeth smiled. She was happy. She was a big girl. She went to the fridge, checked that Mummy and Daddy weren't around by force of habit – then opened it and stole a choco-crunch before getting the crayons and paper out of a cupboard.

Then there was a bang at the door and Elizabeth got a fright. She turned around. "Hello?"

Then the door opened and two men walked inside. One of them said a bad word, then turned to the other and said "I thought you said they left?"

The other man said "I saw their hoverbuggy leave!"  
The first man said "Well what are we going to do now? She's seen our faces!"

The second man said "Relax. We came for their credits but we can take the girl instead."  
The first man said "What's the point of that? We can't sell her!"

The second man said "But we can ransom her. Easier than looking for the credits, nobody hides them under the bed anymore. C'mon, you know you don't want to spend the next hour looking for a safe and the next hour trying to crack it open."  
The first man said "I guess."  
The second man took as step toward Elizabeth and said "You're coming with us!"

Elizabeth tried to run but the door was behind the men and the second one her. He slung her over his shoulder. The first man took her paper and her crayons and wrote something on the paper. Then the men took her out of the house and closed the door and she screamed and the second man took her off his shoulders and put her on the ground, but still held her arm tightly.

Elizabeth said "Let me go!" She tugged at her arm, tried to run.

The second man said "Girl, we put a bomb in your house."

The first man looked at the second man and raised his eyebrows.

The second man said "If you don't shut up, we'll make it explode when your parents are home. You don't want that, do you?"

The sky suddenly flashed behind Elizabeth. She saw the light on the first man and second man's faces for a second, as if a big ship had just appeared in the sky. The first man said "Holy," then a bad word, the second man's mouth dropped open. His grip weakened and Elizabeth tugged her arm out of the second man's hand.

Elizabeth turned and ran away from the bad men as fast as she could. She didn't look back, she didn't look up. She had to warn Mummy and Daddy about the bomb.


	10. Blisk

**Warning: I will be discussing how a starship and a Titan's shields work, using current Quantum mechanics theory. I have written it as simply as possibly. The explanation adds lore to the Titanfall universe, but does not forward the plot of this story. I will mark the explanation segment, feel free to skip it.**

Please note that while I have tried to keep my description as scientifically accurate as possible in keeping with the hard science fiction theme of this story, there are likely many reasons for why this shielding system is downright impossible.

* * *

"Cut the chatter!" called the dropship pilot. "We'll be jumping to Alpha's spaceport in around about three minutes." He turned and grinned at his passengers. "Please ensure your seatbacks and tray table are in the upright positio-"

"SHUT UP JENKINS!" roared his squad. Aisling smiled, these soldiers were a close group.  
"Okay, I'm serious now," Jenkins said. "Quiet in the cabin. Opening channel to Alpha Spaceport.

Alpha Spaceport, this is Dropship One of the TKY _Shikinami_. Requesting clearance to land."  
"Copy that Dropship One. I'm going to have to ask you some questions first, though. Have you or any members of your crew visited a planet in the Lorack system within the last 500 hours? We've had reports of a viral outbreak there."

"Negative, Alpha."

"Do you or any members of your crew have any known genetic abnormalities or sicknesses?"

"Negative, Alpha."

"Very well then. Standby, Dropship One. Adding temporary exception for Dropship One in the automatic orbital defense grid... orbital railgun targeting systems updated... Dropship One, you are clear to enter our airspace. Have you decontaminated your crew?"  
"Negative, Alpha. We will be using your facilities."  
"Very well. In that case, please proceed to landing pad G-7 and follow the instructions of the warden."

"Copy that. Closing channel."

* * *

Meanwhile, a battle raged within and above a Hammond Robotics Spectre factory.

On the ground a team of six Militia pilots were attempting to secure hardpoints to allow their information specialist in orbit to hack into the Spectres nearby. Their job was made significantly more difficult by the six IMC pilots trying to stop them. One such IMC pilot, Journal Wilkes, was assaulting the Militia-held hardpoint Charlie.

_If the Militia takes this facility,_ thought Journal, _then out Spectre production is quartered. We're barely producing enough Spectres as it is. If production drops any further..._

He didn't want to think about it. Since Demeter, the IMC had been forced to turn to Spectres as a replacement for the now non-sustainable human infantry. The other three Spectre production facilities combined couldn't produce a sustainable amount of Spectres. If this facility went down, the Militia would be able to sweep through the remaining IMC strongholds – and -

"Felicity," whispered Wilkes. She was a scientist from the Core worlds, hiding with the IMC forces at outpost 207. Her brown hair smelt like strawberries, her nose –

_I shouldn't be thinking about her nose now,_ Wilkes thought, his arm flicking upwards slightly so that the last bullet of his C.A.R. SMG's magazine drilled a hole through an enemy Spectre.

Her nose was perfectly shaped – well, to him, at least. Not too big, not too small, angled downwards from her forehead at just under 40 degrees, tilting upwards slightly at the end.

And her eyes. Brilliant blue, shining brighter than the light from a falling Tita-

There was an explosion. His legs felt funny. _Why am I on the ground? Why can't I move?_

He turned and saw the gruesome mess that was now his lower body, saw a hulking mass of metal where they should be.

"I'll need some prosthetic legs," he giggled aloud. He tried to crawl towards his SMG.

"AhaahahHHAhahaHAA!" he laughed. "Look at me!" he called to a nearby Militia grunt who looked on at him, horrified and terrified. "There are... _sausages_ coming from out of me! Isn't that fu-"

Then the Titan stood on him.

"Enemy Pilot eliminated," said the Titan's AI to the Militia Pilot inside.

* * *

"Pilot down!" screamed a combat specialist aboard the IMS _Hercules_, high above the Spectre production facility.

"Send the next one down!"

"I'm on it! Defrosting a Pilot from cryo!"

"Where's the quad rocket ammunition gone?!" an engineer asked frantically.

"We're all out!"  
"Send them a triple threat instead! The Pilot needs the Titan NOW!" ordered the head of Titan supply.

"Gotcha! Standby for Titanfall!"

"Shields at 18%, Ma'am!" a battle technician called. "Next shot hits the hull!"

"Cycle the Ion supply on my mark!" his supervisor ordered. She pushed a button on her console. "Spyglass, requesting permission to take evasive jumps!"  
"Permission granted," the AI replied. "I will inform the crew."

She turned to the chief of navigation. "Energize the jump drive!"  
"Jump drive powered, Ma'am!"

"Pulse the engines randomly! We want to be dodging enemy fire while we replace the Ion supply! Battle technician, this is your mark!"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

High above the Spectre production facility two 900-metre long battleships were locked in combat. The MCOR _Ret__aliator_and the IMS _Hercules _struggled to stay in orbit while trying to blow each into clouds of shrapnel. Both were traveling at 2700 metres per second east in geostationary orbit, both almost directly above opposite ends of the production facility. The _Retaliator_ was firing its railguns west at the _Hercules_ in the east as the IMC ship desperately avoided enemy fire while its shields' Ion supplies were replenished.

These battleships were both the largest and least agile ships of their respective fleets and thus hung back, hurling enormous slugs of depleted uranium and lead at each other from afar by use of their railguns. A direct hit to either ship would punch through its Borium hull, killing the crew in that particular part of the ship – _if _it weren't for each ship's shields.

* * *

Author's note: here comes quantum mechanics.

* * *

Newton's (incorrect) laws of motion state that we can predict with certainty the path a ball will take after it has been thrown by measuring its' speed, mass, the strength of gravity, etcera. However, Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle states, amongst many things, that we _cannot _predict the location of a quantum particle – an electron, for instance – only calculate the probability that an electron will be present at a particular location. It also states that quantum particles _do not_ move smoothly through space like a ball would but rather teleport through space in 'quantum hops'. When a ball is thrown, the particles that make it up are simply hopping very short distances very quickly.

When an electron's position is known to be within a certain area, and the electron is known to be at rest, it is _possible_ for it to make a hop to a point anywhere within the universe, but the _likelihood_ of this happening is minute. Quantum interference – the reason why electrons do not randomly hop across the universe but rather stay more or less still – is greater when a particle is known to be within a certain area.

However, when a quantum particle's position is known _exactly_, there is no quantum interference at all and thus the quantum particle is just as likely to hop a centimeter away as it is to hop to the next galaxy across. The shielding systems of a starship make use of this principle. The position of an electron in an ionic atom is measured to an extreme degree of accuracy, increasing the probable distance of the electron's hop to a distance determined by the starship's shield operator. By use of this principle, starship shield operators can negatively charge a region of space in a sphere around the shield core for a short duration.

When a projectile is about to hit a starship, the shield system automatically uses some of the electrons within its' ion reserves to teleport electrons around the ship. These particles negatively charge _everything_ – the ship, the crew, _and the projectile __traveling__ toward the ship._ Because negative charges repel each other, every object within the region of space around the shield core will repel each other. This isn't a problem for the crew, who wear electrostatic wrist and ankle bands to discharge the shock – but it _does_ cause the projectile to be repelled by the ship, slowing down or even changing course entirely to avoid the ship.

* * *

Author's note: The Quantum mechanics ends here.

* * *

But because a ship's shields consume ions from a limited supply of ions every time they are energized the ship's shields are _only_ energized when something significantly fast and significantly large is detected to be on a course that will hit the ship. If a ship runs out of Ions, it is unable to deploy its' shields until it refills its' reservoir. Titan shields work in the same way, but because a Titan functions in an atmosphere, they can collect ions on the go; recharging their shield. When a shield is online, it doesn't mean it's energized – only that it _will_ be energized should the ship be in danger.

These battleships were chewing though fuel, tritium and ions for one purpose – to support their ground forces below. Between them, fast-moving autonomous unarmed corvettes served as early-warning systems for enemy fire, detecting and relaying the movement of railgun fire to their respective fleet command AI's.

Slightly larger and slower were the frigates – smaller than a destroyer, like a corvette with weapons. They were designed to be fast, agile, expendable fighters capable of striking an enemy's weak points. Their onboard chemical weapons were capable of overheating crewed ships' life support systems. All ships had to vent their heat somehow or they would cook the crew inside first and melt the hull afterward. By very nature, the life support systems that vented the heat of a ship into space had to be exposed, and if a frigate could latch onto such a system they could reverse the flow of heat and kill the crew inside within minutes.

Protecting the larger ships from the frigates were the destroyers, slightly larger one-man ships armed with projectile weapons – capable of destroying a corvette in one hit, but difficult _to_ hit with – and laser weapons – easier to hit with that destroyed corvettes by overheating them. These ships hung in a line in the middle of the battlespace, stopping the frigates or corvettes from getting past.

Then there were cruisers. Armed with a single heavy railgun, multiple smaller railguns and a small shield, these ships were designed to sit in front of friendly battleships, sniping enemy destroyers from afar with their small railguns and sniping enemy battleships and cruisers with their heavy railguns. They always fired diagonally through the battlespace, utilizing the recoil from their railguns to push them out of the way of incoming fire.

Sometimes fleets were protected by logistics cruisers. They were the same size as a normal cruiser, but were only armed with two small railguns. They sported jump drives instead, which they used to compress the space in front of them, allowing friendly corvettes and frigates to jump into battle. If they were given sufficient warning, they could even activate their jump drives to accelerate enemy fire away from friendly battleships

Finally there were the battleships. These enormous behemoths were designed to carry smaller ships, launch Titans, deploy ground forces and to kill enemy cruisers, battleships and capital ships. They were armed with missiles, heavy railguns, lasers (for self-defense against frigates) and large jump drives.

Aboard the IMS _Hercules, _an AI core commanded the IMC fleet.

* * *

"Commander Blisk, we are receiving a hailing signal on a private frequency," IMC Vice Admiral Spyglass said, voice devoid of emotion like the AI it was.

"Phone's for me, Admiral?" asked Blisk. It seemed the captain of the Militia's battleship wanted to chat.

_And I know just who it is,_ thought Blisk.

"Only IMC officers would know the frequency," replied Spyglass, confirming Blisk's suspicions.

"Graves," blisk growled. "What do you want, Sir? Your call whether I take it."

"Patching him through," said Spyglass, making its 'mind' up. "Standby for a secure line."

"Blisk, this is Graves, can you hear me?" asked the Militia's Field Commander.

"What do you want?"

"I want to end the war."

Blisk rolled his eyes. _Cutting straight to the point._

"Yeah? The fight _harder._ Maybe you will. Quickest way to end it is to wipe out everyone who stands against you."

Just then a titan on the ground decided that it was no longer capable of protecting the pilot inside it. Its vertical hatch opened and the pilot was ejected to safety as the Titan's nuclear reactor went supercritical and then exploded. The radiation from the detonation temporarily shorted both ships' communication systems.

"Damnnit. That was one of our Titans," groaned Blisk.  
"Reports from grunts on the field say that its' detonation destroyed an enemy titan."

"Not too bad then, Sir. But we only have so many Titans." Blisk pressed a button at his terminal. "Hardpoint Charlie just went offline. All units, take Charlie back now!"

A moment later, an IMC Titan launched a cluster missile by Charlie's terminal, killing the two enemy pilots that had just been hacking it.

"Yes! We got Charlie!"

"We don't have to be against each other, Blisk," came Graves' voice again in Blisk's earpiece. "It could be us against the machines."

_Oh yeah?_

_Screw you, Graves. I don't want to fight with someone with as weak a mind as yours. _

"Then how we gonna ever know who's better?" Blisk asked.  
"No person is better than another, Blisk," countered Graves.

"I disagree. You kill me, you're better. I kill you, I'm better."

_There can be only one ruler of the frontier,_ Blisk thought. _And that's not the Militia. Those lawless assholes could never hold this place. There'd be too much infighting, a civil war within weeks. They are not worthy of the frontier._

A beeping in his earpiece brought him back to reality. "We're losing Alpha!" he told his pilots on the ground. "Be advised, we're losing the fight but not by much. Don't underestimate these terrorists."

Graves' broadcast came through again. "Blisk, you fight alongside machines, _but they believe in nothing_. They have no loyalty. They're loyal only to their operator."

Blisk laughed. "You're gonna lecture me about loyalty!? You change your uniform like you're changing socks."

In a split-second decision, Blisk decided to abandon defending the electronic minds of the Spectres at Alpha and instead began focusing on assaulting Bravo with his electronic friends. With a single command, eight Spectres moved fearlessly and _loyally_ toward Bravo.

"I'm disloyal!? I'm the one who hired you, Blisk! And I don't see you fighting by my side! That's the way it should be!"

"I am loyal _to the CAUSE,_ Graves! You hired me to pacify the frontier and _that's what I'm doing._"

"The IMC cannot pacify the frontier -"  
"If we can't, those filthy _terrorists_ you fight with certainly can't!" roared Blisk. He took a deep breath.

"You want _peace?"_ he spat. "The only way you can have _peace _is if you have a government to keep it. The IMC offered this region of space a government. We gave people transport here, we built their cities, we supplied their tools, and we would have kept the peace if they'd paid their bloody taxes. And you frontier _dogs_ refused. You say you want peace? A world ruled by the militia is a world of_ anarchy_."

"Blisk," growled Graves, "If what you say is true, then _nobody_ can save the frontier. I believe it _can _be done. And you know what? In the end, against faceless machines and people like you who fight only for a paycheck, we will win."

"Ha, I'll fight you for free, Graves! Hope to find you on the ground soon aye."

Aboard the MCOR _Retaliator_ Field Commander Graves ended his transmission with Blisk and turned to the battle technician. "How are we going down there?"

"We're in the lead, Sir. It won't be much longer before we'll have every Spectre on the assembly line set to self-destruct. Then we can take out this factory for good."

"Very well. Keep it up."

* * *

Soon afterward the facility was in flames and the IMC fleet was fleeing.

"All IMC forces, this is your Vice Admiral, Designation: Spyglass," Spyglass broadcast. "The destruction of Demeter and the loss of many robotics factories has put us on a defensive footing."

"You can say that again," muttered Blisk, his head in his hands.

"Although reinforcements from the Core Systems are unable to reach us, battle projections indicate we are still an effective fighting force. Our garrisons continue to maintain order on the frontier. Until we are relieved, we will remain vigilant. We will adapt, and we will prevail. All forces, set a course for outpost 207."


	11. Welcome to Alpha

Forgive me, everyone. My formatting seems to have died when I uploaded this chapter to . I _think_ I've fixed it.

Here is the link to a diagram showing the current positions of the IMC and Militia forces.

You will have to assemble the link yourself, as Fanfiction doesn't like people posting links. To do so, remove the (|) lines.

ht | tp | : | / | / | imgur | . | com | / | iNH7mO4

The image shows: the IMC and Militia fleets are in high orbit around the planet. The IMC fleet is going to be facing outpost 207 in 15 hours, and will warp away to outpost 207 when they can. The Militia is behind the IMC in orbit.

* * *

"Attention all forces. Continue on your current course. We will remain in orbit around this planet for another 15 hours. Once we are facing Outpost 207, we will power on our jump drives to leave orbit and begin to burn our main thrusters."  
Spyglass switched its broadcast mode from 'fleet' to 'local'. "Commander. How long will you remain intoxicated?"

The IMC fleet was still in high geostationary orbit, traveling towards the east with the Militia fleet in pursuit, a few kilometres back. The plan was to continue orbiting for another 15, making just over three-quarters of a revolution around the planet and thus arriving at a point (Author's note: position X on the diagram) facing Outpost 207. By activating their jump drives then, the fleet would compress the space in front of them, multiplying their velocity a few hundred times – and thus catapulting their ship out of orbit towards Outpost 207. Of course, the Militia fleet would try do the same.

"I'm not drunk, Admiral," Commander Blisk replied, taking a sip of his low-alcohol beer. "One can doesn't make a man tipsy."  
"Forgive me, Commander. I haven't drunk before."  
"Fair enough."  
"Commander, I would like your advice."  
"Oh?" Blisk raised his eyebrows. "Shoot, aye."  
"Our main fleet flees from the Militia, our Spectre production is dropping, and we are running low on supplies at our stronghold at outpost 207. Can you see an IMC victory here?"  
"Heh." Blisk looked 'up'. "Well -"

"Unexpected enemy activity detected," Spyglass suddenly interrupted. "Displaying enemy fleet on monitor."

The entire Militia fleet had turned around and was firing their thrusters in reverse – slowing them down?!

"Initial analysis would indicate that the Militia forces are no longer pursuing us."  
"No. No no no no no. I know that man," Blisk muttered. "He's not going to give up just like that. He can't." And then it hit him. "Oh. Shit."  
"Agreed," said Spyglass. "I believe the enemy is attempting a Hohmann transfer."  
"Admiral, can't we counter with a transfer of our own?"  
"Negative, Commander. We are already damaged enough as it is. We have neither the fuel nor the heat-resistant hulls to skim the atmosphere, and we cannot allow ourselves to get any closer to them."  
"Then they'll overtake!"  
"We will have to make do."

Blisk slammed his fist on a table. "Graves," he growled. "He's planning to warp before us, cut us off."

* * *

Sarah was beaming with pride. "Tell me that wasn't a good idea, Sir."

"That was brilliant, Sarah," Replied Graves, his mind elsewhere.

The Militia fleet was currently slowing themselves down, thus leading to a change in their orbit. Before they'd been orbiting in a wide circle; now they were at the highest point of an elliptical orbit. Once they reached the lowest point of their orbit they'd burn their thrusters again, accelerating to a high enough speed to sustain their lower orbit. They'd finish the maneuver in 8 hours and end up ahead of the IMC forces, ready to warp two hours after that. If the two fleets were racing cars on a large circular track, this technique would be 'passing on the inside'.

Which meant, at some point, his fleet would pass by the IMC fleet as they overtook.

_The closer we get, the less warning we'll get for each of their shots. And with the atmosphere below us, we've got less room to dodge their fire. For a few minutes our exposed position will put their damaged ships at equal footing with us. But if we pull this off, we'll be aligned with Outpost 207 first. We'll be in position to warp ahead and cut off their escape to Outpost 207._

_Quickest way to end it is to wipe out everyone who stands against you._

Graves' brow furrowed. _I don't want to do this, Blisk, but you stand against me._

"Move all ships into defensive formation!" he ordered loudly, making his decision. "We'll be within critical range in thirty minutes' time. All ships must be ready by then!"

Critical range. The range at which the enemy was close enough that the light traveling ahead of their projectiles would not give enough warning for ships to dodge. When the enemy was so close, you couldn't dodge – just move erratically and hope like hell your shields held.

It was a gamble – with both fleets on the line.

"C'mon! Corvettes up front with the frigates! Destroyers, make a line behind them! Logi's and Cruisers, on the Retaliator! Let's move, people!"

* * *

"Shit," cursed Blisk. "If they pull this off, we're screwed. We have got to cripple them the moment they pass, and we must return to Outpost 207 or the frontier is lost. Admiral, what kind of tricks do we have up our sleeves?"  
"None, Commander. This is going to be ship to ship, nothing more. Leave the battle to me, Commander. The skies are my territory. Go get some rest."

Then, suddenly, "We are receiving a hailing signal from the Militia fleet, Commander. Accepting transmission.

" 'Afternoon, Blisk, Spyglass," said Graves.  
"Graves," replied Blisk.  
"As I'm sure you've realized, we're making a Hohmann transfer. We're going to be ahead of you in a couple of hours."  
"We know, Graves. But on the off-chance we didn't, why would you tell us?"  
"To give you a chance to surrender. Don't do this to yourself, Blisk. Give us the white flag, drop your warp drives and I promise we will take care of you. There will be peace on the frontier, finally."  
"Never. Not with you in charge, there won't."  
"Then I have one warning." Graves paused.

"I was the admiral of the IMC fleet for years, Blisk. I know you. I know Spyglass. You cannot defeat me."  
"We'll see, Graves."

Blisk turned and stormed out of the bridge.

* * *

This was not Blisk's fight. He was a mercenary; not a space battle specialist.

But he couldn't sleep. Not knowing that the man in charge of the other fleet was Marcus Graves. Not knowing that over the next two hours the fleets would be within critical range.

Blisk gnashed his teeth. He wasn't better than Graves in the sky. Up here he was powerless.

* * *

The two fleets came within critical range twenty minutes later.

The Hercules opened the engagement, turning side-on in an offensive position. It exposed its' entire length, making it easier to hit – but all of its' side cannons were now facing the Militia fleet. It began to pound on the Militia mercilessly, accelerating the enormous metal railgun slugs to inordinate speeds, Spyglass effortlessly balancing the recoil with the Hercules' orbit as to not push it off course.

"Locking targets!" roared the battle technician. "Calculating firing vectors – firing vectors calculated! Ready to fire on your command, Admiral!"

"Fire at will, battle technician."

"Firing!"

The MCOR Retaliator was pointed directly at the Hercules, minimizing the area it exposed to the Hercules' railguns but in turn cutting down on its' own potential firepower. The IMC cruisers moved outwards to rectify this, taking up firing positions far away from the Hercules to get a shot at the Retaliator's flanks.

The Militia cruisers hugged the Retaliator. They needed not spread far from their command ship to get a good shot off at the Hercules; the IMC ship was side-on after all. They fired silently at the Hercules at an incredible rate -

\- their slugs intercepted by the IMC's logistics cruisers' jump drives, angling the shots past the Hercules by compressing the space the slugs traveled through on an angle so that they wouldn't hit. Because of the IMC's spread-out formation, the logistics cruisers had plenty of leeway with where they diverted enemy fire to.

"Concentrate fire on the enemy logistics cruisers!" ordered Graves. "We take them out and the Hercules is ours!"

"Locking targets, Sir! Calculating their warp patterns from initial shots... Translating corvette data to warp signatures of logistical jump drives... calculations complete!"

"Fire a barrage at the enemy logistics cruisers from the MCOR Retribution," Graves ordered. "Two shots – one for if the warp drives are engaged, one for if they are not. In addition, continue firing at the Hercules from the Retaliator. Lets see if their logistics cruisers can handle fire from two directions at once."

"Commencing pincer barrage! Shots away... ETA two seconds... one... impact!"

"What's the damage?"

"One logistic cruiser destroyed! The others are moving to avoid fire!"

The 3rd Militia Frigate squadron accelerated towards a Militia logistics cruiser and in a flash of light found themselves amidst the enemy fleet. They scattered like sheep before a wolf as three IMC destroyers moved in to engage.

"DAMNIT!" cursed Graves, slamming his hands on the control desk. "They must have broken our LC-LOS!"

"Attempting to regain manual drone control!" shouted a drone operator. "Negative, Sir! Drones are locked in AI mode, the IMC must be jamming our Laser Comms! There's something blocking our Line Of Sight!"

The damage was done, though – to protect their carriers from the Militia's AI frigate threat, the IMC's destroyers on the front line had to retreat. Two IMC cruisers moved from their firing positions to cover the gap the missing destroyers had made and found themselves in a swarm of freshly-jumped frigates. One of the cruisers' pilots managed to save the cruiser by retreating; the other pilot ejected the crew and set the autopilot to fly straight for the Hercules.

And suddenly Blisk had an idea. He leaped from his bunk and tore towards the Bridge.

* * *

"Welcome to Alpha spaceport, travelers!" called a woman energetically from inside a white sterile suit. "I hear you've arrived from New Tokyo?"

"Indeed," replied Jenkins, the dropship pilot from behind a breathing mask. "Weather's nice!"

The woman laughed. "It's always hot here. Now, if you'd all follow me to the spaceport terminal..."

Aisling and the rest of the dropship's occupants took a breathing mask and exited the dropship's airlock one by one. The heat hit her like a punch before her feet even touched the ground and she dropped to her knees.

"Are you okay?" asked the woman in the sterile suit, concerned. "The heat's hard to get used to. Where are you from?"

"Bri- I mean, the Yuma system." She took deep breaths, filled her lungs with hot dry air.

"You'll be right once you get inside," the woman said. "The medical room's got air conditioning!"

"Fantastic," muttered Aisling under her breath. "Thanks, I'll be fine."

She stumbled to her feet.

_Gravity's stronger than the Austraeus, but still weaker than Brink. Atmosphere's thin but still bloody hot. I wanna go home..._

Aisling began to lurch toward the spaceport terminal.


	12. Your mission begins now

Author's note:

I have decided to give a name to the planet that the Hammond spectre factory is built upon. As it was a referenced location in the game – there's an actual map there – but the name of the planet isn't mentioned, I wasn't going to name it. But calling it "the planet" is boring. So, from now on, the planet shall be called "Hephaestus".

Second note:

Shit, I forgot to proofread this one. Sorry for those of you who had to pick your way through my notes and annotations. It's fixed now.

* * *

"SPYGLASS!" Blisk yelled, sprinting onto the bridge. "How long till we can warp to Outpost 207?"

"14 hours, Commander."

"What's the period of our orbit about Hephaestus?"

"Twenty hours, Commander."

"Position of sun relative to Outpost 207?"

"176 degrees from Outpost 207. I don't see your point, Commander."

"Spyglass, if we wanted to, we could warp to Solhephaestus in four hours' time, aye?"

"Yes."

"Spyglass." Blisk looked into the robot's optical sensor. "I'm going to need you to trust me."

* * *

First there was the heat, and now there was the decontamination chamber.

To ensure that no viral or bacterial plagues were brought from one planet to another, most planetary governments employed a two-part defense system.

One, at the very least, orbital railguns above every city or settlement and clear borders around said cities and settlements. If the government could afford it, they'd fill the skies with railguns. These railguns would enforce a no-atmospheric-entry zone above the planet, or at least above settlements, thus forcing starships to request permission to enter the atmosphere and land at a spaceport. Should a starship try to enter the atmosphere and land anywhere other than a spaceport, the railguns would blow it out of the sky and any contaminants aboard would burn up with the ship during re-entry. If the planetary government couldn't afford a sky full of railguns then they would protect major settlements with railguns and send bombers to destroy starships that land illegally.

This ensures that all immigrants to a planet must go through a spaceport. At spaceports, the second defense system would take place – the decontamination chambers, one of which Aisling had just entered.

"Please remove all clothing and jewelery and place in the basket provided," a voice said, and Aisling complied. The basket disappeared into a hole in the side of the chamber.

"Your clothing is now being radiation-treated and will be returned to you momentarily," said the voice. It seemed to be prerecorded. "Decontamination will commence in a few minutes. Even if you have visited Venice 3 before, please pay attention to the following video – our policies may have changed since you were last here.

When the decontamination begins this chamber will be flooded with a blue liquid. Don't worry, the liquid contains oxygen. When it covers your mouth and nose take a deep breath and let it enter your lungs like you would with air.

The liquid contains smart antibiotics that will search for and destroy all bacteria that are unknown to Venice 3's department of biological security. You may feel a slight tingling sensation; do not be alarmed. This is natural.

The liquid also contains antibodies that will be absorbed into your bloodstream through your lungs. These antibodies will kill off any viruses that are unknown to Venice 3's department of biological security.

The process will take roughly 30 minutes, during which you should try to ensure that the liquid enters and cleanses every part of your body. Please raise your arms to allow the liquid to clean your armpits, ruffle your hair to ensure your scalp is completely cleaned, and spread your anal cavity and genitals if possible."

Aisling blushed at the last one.

"When you are done you will be supplied with a vaccine microneedle to immunize you against our local microorganisms.

Should anything go wrong, lift the glass and press the red emergency button.

Do you have any questions?"

Aisling thought for a moment about how much she didn't want a full-body enema, and then selected "No" from a list.

"Very well. Remember, breathe the decontamination liquid as if it were normal air. Tingling sensations are perfectly normal. Decontamination will now commence."

A blueish-green liquid that smelt vaguely like alcohol started trickling from holes in the side of the chamber.

* * *

"The enemy fleet is breaking away and pulling ahead of us," called Spyglass. "Our orbit is bringing us out of Critical range in three, two, one, mark. It is now possible to dodge enemy fire."

This didn't stop the fleets from lobbing railgun shells at each other, but it did allow ships to anticipate and accelerate away from most shells by mere centimetres.

"Alright, Spyglass. How long till we're pointed at Solhephaestus?"

"Two hours, Commander."

"Very well. Commence jump when our orbital acceleration brings us on a 0.02 degree bearing with Solhephaestus."

"Commencing jump preparations, Commander. How close do you want to arrive?"

"To low orbit. We're going in deep."

"Commander -"

"Trust me, Admiral. This is going to work."

* * *

"Ugh..." Aisling groaned, stumbling out of the decontamination chamber. She reached for a towel, dried the thick liquid off her body and it formed into a gelatinous puddle on the floor, oozed into the drain.

Then she collapsed onto the ground, vomited the contents of her lungs and stomach.

"Please note," the speakers said, "feeling sick and/or vomiting during this time is a normal part of the decontamination process. Do not be alarmed."

"Thanks for the warning," muttered Aisling. "Huughh -"

She heaved again, the contractions of her stomach making her feel as if she was tearing her body apart. Which it was. Half of the cells in her body were now dead.

"Bacteria beneficial to your body will soon grow back and recolonize your body. Until then, bacterial supplements will be available."

She found her clothing, pulled her panties up, hooked her bra on and pulled her cargo pants and t-shirt over top. She could still feel the bluish slime on her body and made the mistake of running her hand through her hair - her scalp was thick with the bluey ooze.

"Uh, voice, is there any way I could have a shower or something?"

"Key word detected. Did you say: Shower?"

"Yes, shower."

"Once you exit the decontamination chamber, take a left down the corridor towards the women's bathrooms. Courtesy showers are provided."

"Thanks, voice."

"Are you ready to exit the decontamination chamber?"

"Yes."

"Please look to your left. Vaccines to local bacteria and antibody supplements have been dispensed. Please wrap the microneedle patch tight around your left arm."

Aisling did as she was told, wrapping the fabric around her arm, tingling as the microscopic needles injected doses of self-replicating antibodies and vaccines into her bloodstream, immunizing her against local diseases. Viruses and bacteria would evolve differently on Venice 3 from other planets, so a vaccine and artificial antibody top-up was necessary for keeping her healthy away from home.

"This health patch is from batch 10.0.9 and grants protection from all bacteria and viruses in the Venice system. If you shuttle elsewhere in the Venice system aboard a ship that has not been out of the Venice system within the last two kilohours, you will not need to take a decontamination chamber. The decontamination chambers' doors will now open. Please exit the chamber."

Aisling had entered one door as a walking colony of bacteria and viruses native to Brink and now left by the other door with 99.99% of said bacteria dead or soon to be.

* * *

"Well, look who it is!" smirked Evans. "Don't you look great?"

"Shut up, Evans," growled Aisling. "You don't look so fantastic yourself." Aisling turned to Baxter. "Can I take a shower?"

"Don't see why not." Baxter leaned in to Aisling's ear. "Missions are scheduled to start in 30 minutes." She stepped back. "Me and my girls are just headed down there now, come join us."

"Oi, where are you all off to?" asked Nathan as he dragged himself out of a decontamination chamber.

"Girl's showers," said Aisling. "I'd invite you, but -"

"Heh. I'd come," He winked.

Aisling punched him on the shoulder, slight smile on her face. "Whatever. Clean yourself up, you smell of decontamination fluid."

"Speak for yourself," Orion muttered, walking out of his chamber.

* * *

Evans dropped her clothes to the floor and sauntered into a shower cubicle without the slightest hint of shame.

"You alright, Aisling?" asked Baxter.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She walked into a shower cubicle, locked the door and undressed. Washed the gelatinous slime from her hair - and realized that here, the water fell at normal speed.

Almost.

The steam was filling the thin air now and Aisling felt her lungs work a little harder to suck the air down, like she was deep underwater and breathing the air through a straw.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," breath, "just give me a," breath, "second," she wheezed, slumped to her knees. Placed her hand on her bare chest, felt her ribcage expand and contract.

"Aisling!"

Baxter pulled the door open, still naked and dripping with soap. "What's the matter?!"

Aisling coughed. "Air," breath, "thin, steam." Breath. "Different on brink." Breath. She tried slowing her breathing, opened her lungs as wide as they could go, felt her heart beat with her right fist, propped her body up with her left. Baxter watched her for a second.

"So you're okay now?"

"Yeah. Just got to breathe slowly." Breath.

"Very well then." Baxter left the cubicle, shut the shower door and spoke from outside.

"Will you be able to go on? Y'know, to do your trading mission?"

"I'll be fine." Trading mission was the agreed codeword for each team's mission. Ashley Stone had insisted; there could be hidden microphones everywhere.

A few minutes later, Aisling dried her body and hair, slipped her clothing back on, and came back out to meet the rest of team D.

"Alright guys," Stone said from orbit into everyone's earpieces, "Your missions begin now. Good luck."


	13. Chess

Author's note:  
Posting this message twice because it's important.

I have decided to give a name to the planet that the Hammond spectre factory is built upon. As it was a referenced location in the game – there's an actual map there – but the name of the planet isn't mentioned, I wasn't going to name it. But calling it "the planet" is boring. So, from now on, the planet shall be called "Hephaestus".

Similarly, the sun that Hephaestus orbits is now named Solhephaestus, following my conventions with naming planets and stars.

* * *

Ashley Stone switched to team D's private channel.

"Team D. Time to face the music."

Her fingers flew across the keyboard in front of her.  
"You've got to find a shuttle. I'm searching the planetary infonet now... 92 hits. Jaggerjack, you there?"  
"Hearing you loud and clear."  
"Good. I've spotted a place on the other side of Alpha – nice and far away from the spaceport so you guys can cover your tracks. You're off to Samel's Shuttle Emporium. 'Reliable shuttles, low prices, no questions asked'. Get your team over there by 1300 hours tomorrow, it's getting late today. Keep in mind that the days are shorter here."

The enormous orange sun hovering in the thin sky served to remind the team that this was another planet.

"Copy that, Stone. Can you give me more precise coordinates?"  
"Translating the address into coordinates – 31 degrees, 30 minutes, 53.1072 seconds north, 6 degrees, 25 minutes, 56.9820 seconds west. I'm adding a waypoint in your locator now."  
"Waypoint received. Oh, wow. That's a couple of hours' walk."  
"And I'm afraid you're going to have to walk it. We can't afford to hire or buy a transport."  
"It'll be fine, I'm sure we'll manage. We'll find a merchant's inn for tonight and head off to Sorian by tomorrow."  
"Gotcha. Good luck, Team D."

* * *

Stone moved to the other teams.

"Misha, are you guys good?"  
"We're fine, Mission Specialist."

"Leader of team B, Pilot Bruce. We've located some unmarked probes you could purchase at a market not far from Alpha. Patching you the coordinates now.

"E-team. You've got the shopping list?"  
"Copy that, Ms. Stone," replied the Pilot George, leader of team E. "We'll be getting some rest tonight before going out to the markets tomorrow."  
"Sounds good. Good luck."

Stone sighed, relieved. All was well on the desert planet below.  
"All teams are go, Captain."

Captain Soryuu glanced sideways at her Vice-Captain, John Roberts. He nodded at her, as if to say, _it's your ship now._ She opened her mouth.

"We wait until morning. Then we begin."

* * *

"Commander, we will reach the bearing you specified in five minutes. This is your last chance to cancel or we will jump to Solhephaestus. Are you sure this is a good idea?"  
"Yes, Admiral. Commence the jump to Solhephaestus. Arrive 1.2 billion metres from the surface."  
"Commander, that is too close. We'll melt after a few minutes. May I suggest we jump to a point 2 billion metres away?"  
"Spyglass."  
"Trust_ is_ an interesting exercise," the AI mused. "Very well then, Commander. You understand that you will not be paid if you melt? And that Solhephaestus is in the opposite direction from Outpost 207?"  
"Admiral. Please."

Spyglass switched his broadcasting mode to the entire fleet. "Attention, all personnel. Ensure your ships are in position behind the _IMS Hercules_. We will be jumping to Solhephaestus in thirty seconds.

T minus 29. 28. 27. 26. 25."

"All ships are in position!" called the chief of navigation. "They're ready to ride our jump wake!"

"15. 14. 13. 12. 11. T minus 10. Preparing Jump Drive."

"Let's do this, Spyglass," whispered Blisk. "We're going to show this asshole who's boss."

"6. 5. Initiating jump sequence in three, two, one, mark."

Four large flywheels deep within the _Hercules_ had been drawing energy from the _Hercules' _tritium reactor over the past 10 minutes and had now achieved peak velocity. Each flywheel suddenly _stopped_, dumping their entire reserves of stored kinetic energy into two particle accelerators. The energy formed two black holes within the bounds of the _Hercules'_ jump drive.

At the same time, the three Hammond MK. 31 large mass drivers that were the _Hercules'_ engines flared brilliant blue, firing propellant behind it to accelerate the ship forward at a rate of 30 metres per second, slamming the entire crew back into their seats and briefly forcing the air out of their lungs.

As the space in front of them began to compress by 5,000 times the light entering the _Hercules' _side cameras began to speed up, bending like light through water. Solhephaestus – directly in front of the jump drives' area of influence – stayed the same, while the rest of space seemed to converge ahead of them.

"Hang on tight," grunted Blisk to the bridge crew, and then they were gone.

* * *

"Captain, we are receiving a hailing signal from Venice 3," called a Communications technician. "Do you want to take it?"

Once again, Soryuu glanced at Roberts.

"Your call, Sir."  
"You're Captain now, Ma'am. I would advise you take it, but ultimately the decision is yours."  
"Very well. Put them through."

A man appeared on the display screen in front of Soryuu. Heavily tanned, curly black hair, brown eyes, bony cheeks – and luscious silky robes flowing from his shoulders.  
"Good afternoon, travellers!" the man grinned. "I am Lucian Jzaque, leading trader of Alpha's markets. To whom do I owe the pleasure?"  
"Yuuki 'Nina' Soryuu of the TKY Shikinami. Have you business with us?"  
"Perhaps." Lucian's smile never fell from his face. "I noticed your ship jumping in from New Tokyo a few hours ago – I must say, it is _enormous_! You're not thinking of selling, are you?"  
"No thank you, perhaps another time. She has served us well so far and I'd hate to give her away."  
"Very well then." He rubbed his hands together. "Well, I was wondering exactly _what_ are you planning on buying or selling? I'd love to be of assistance."  
_I'm sure you would,_ thought Soryuu. "Well," she mused, "We've already sent some traders down to the surface -"  
"Excellent!" Lucian quickly interrupted. "Send them to me! I will hook them up with whatever they need!"  
"Well they'll be looking for various knicks and knacks tomorrow – fuel, of course -"  
"I happen to have the largest fuel depot in town!" Lucian added.  
"- and shuttles, communication pods, tritium – all sorts of things. For now, they're just looking for accommodation before they go off to the market."  
"Well, tell them to come stay with me!" Lucian exclaimed, happily. "I'm used to traders staying at my mansion, we have plenty of beds for guests. I can arrange _everything_ for you. Let me make your visit to Venice 3 as comfortable as possible. What do you say?"  
"Can you excuse me for a moment, Mr. Jzaque? I'd like to discuss this with the rest of the bridge."  
"Absolutely." He began to finger a ring.  
"Communications, mute microphone and disable camera feed," commanded Soryuu.

She turned to Roberts. "Vice-Captain. What do you think?"  
"For starters," began Roberts, "It would be unwise to trust everyone on Venice 3. That said..."  
"Well?"  
"I've heard of people like him before. 'Trader-hoarders', they're called.

What he'll have done is launched a huge amount of communication drones into orbit around Solvenice and told them to alert him if a large ship was approaching Venice 3. The moment he saw us he would have gone straight to the bank, asked for the biggest loan they'd give him and then hired out a large mansion and some fancy clothes to make himself look like a millionaire. By the time we arrived at Venice 3 he'd be desperately broadcasting – just like every other trader-hoarder on Venice 3 – for our attention, hoping that we'd talk to him first. He says he's the leading trader of Alpha's markets – hence the mansion, clothes, and 'the largest fuel depot in town', the last of which is likely complete bull. What he wants now is for us to send our traders to stay at his mansion. We rock up, he acts all friendly, asks what we're selling or buying, and makes sure we don't ever see the markets of Venice 3. He, claiming to be 'the leading trader of Alpha's markets, will then buy whatever _we_ want to buy, add his own price markup, and sell it to us. He'll also buy our goods at less than what they should be and then sell them to the markets at full price. By making sure we never get to see Alpha's markets, he makes sure he makes an enormous profit off us."  
"So we shouldn't go with him?"  
"Depends on the markup he adds. I reckon we send team E to him and send the other teams for a quick stroll through the market. We compare the prices, and, if he's not screwing us over too badly, we leave team E there, safe within his hired mansion."  
"Very well then. Activate microphone and camera feed.  
I'm back, Lucian."

He dropped his ring. "Have you made your decision?" He wrung his hands nervously.  
"We're going to send our traders over. Can you give us your address?"  
"Yes! Uhh..." he fumbled around for a piece of paper. "Ready? 31 degrees, 31 minutes, 56.4 seconds north, 6 degrees, 23 minutes, 16.8 seconds west."  
"Cool. Can you be ready for them in an hour?"  
"Absolutely!" Lucian almost screamed with excitement. "Come as soon as possible!"

The call ended.  
"Overwatch. Focus our long range cameras on his address. I want orbital imagery, I want to know that team E will be safe. Search the infonet too."

Soryuu turned to Roberts, raised an eyebrow. "I don't know what you were talking about, Vice-Captain. That man was obviously a trader of very high stature."

* * *

"Disengaging jump drives," Spyglass called. "All ships, confirm jump success."

"_IMS Pillar of Winter _successfully jumped, Admiral!" broadcast the first cruiser.  
"_IMS Strongarm _successfully jumped, Admiral!"  
"This is the _Rorschach__, _reporting in."  
"_IMS Dreamgate_, reporting in."

"Logistics cruiser _IMS __Queen of hearts_, here."  
"Logistics cruiser _IMS Queen of spaces_. We made it."  
"Logi cruiser _Queen of clubs_, jump successful."  
"Confirming successful jump drive disengage from the _Queen of diamonds_."

"All four carriers have jumped successfully. All four logistics cruisers have jumped successfully. Sensor readouts indicate that all destroyers, frigates and corvettes have jumped successfully." Spyglass turned to Blisk. "Commander, we are too close to Solhephaestus. We can't vent our heat fast enough. I hope you have a plan."  
"We'll start by angling the _Hercules_ so that our thrusters are pointed directly at Solhephaestus. The thrusters should deflect some of the radiation."  
"Commander, I am having difficulty understanding your actions. You ask me to trust you, then you make the fleet dangerously close to _Solhephaestus?_ Please explain yourself."

"Well." Blisk grinned. "Graves has set up camp between Hephaestus and Outpost 207, right?"  
"Yes. I was planning on breaching their blockade with a pincer formation."  
"Admiral, Graves _invented _the pincer formation. And he knows _you_. I'd bet a months' pay he'd preparing to counter a pincer formation. There's no way in hell we'd get past."  
"Nor will we survive being this close to Solhephaestus. Status update: _Hercules_ radiators functioning at 74 percent, and rising. We cannot survive more than 10 minutes like this, Commander."

A timer appeared on Blisk's monitor, counting down from 600 seconds.

"Very well. Admiral, shut down all non-essential systems to help out our radiators. Tell the rest of the fleet to do the same."

Blisk began to smirk. "Next, set a course for the large asteroid that's coming our way."

"Commander, do you plan to attempt a gravitational slingshot around the asteroid? To catapult us towards Outpost 207 faster than Graves expects, flying past his blockade and surprising him?"  
"It's a pretty good plan, aye."  
"I have already calculated the chance of such a plan's success to be 7%, Commander. Our radiators will melt before we can reach the asteroid."

Blisk's smile fell slightly.

"Admiral, are all the ships in the fleet either docked with a larger ship or cruising in our shadow?"  
"Yes, Commander."  
"Then here's the fun part. Ion shield capacity?"  
"Current canister is at 20%, Commander, but we have another 15 cannisters."  
"Divert all ions to the rear shields. Tell the shield operator to turn up the ion expenditure to maximum."

As the _Hercules _and her fleet sailed across the sun towards the asteroid the space by the _Hercules' _thrusters began to crackle and pop, the ions appearing there soaking up some of the sun's radiation.  
"Ion expenditure at maximum, Commander."  
"Now what are the radiators at?"  
"72 percent, Commander. Cooling. But at this rate of Ion expenditure we will run out of Ions in 40 seconds."  
"Turn the shields off, then. I want you to turn them on whenever the radiators hit 95%, and turn them off whenever the radiators are below 95%. Keep them balanced at near-critical."

"Very well, Commander. I trust you."

Radiators vented heat faster the hotter they were, until they hit 100% capacity – at which point, they would not be able to radiate any more heat for fear of melting, increasing the load placed on the other radiators. If the ship got too hot the ship's AI – in this case, Spyglass – would have to turn off different parts of the _Hercules_ to keep it from getting too hot. First to go would be the weaponry system, the last, the AI core.

Life support was considered expendable. It was better for the ship to return home piloted by an AI than for the AI to turn off and then have thecrew get cooked a few minutes afterwards.

"Admiral, how many ions do we have left?"  
"14 canisters. We will not survive."

"Continue on our current course."

"Very well, Commander."

* * *

"What the hell are they doing?" asked Graves, face contorted in confusion. "Outpost 207 is _this_ way."  
"Admiral," said the chief of navigation, "Scans indicate that they are too close to the sun. Keeping in mind that light takes 17 minutes to get here from their current position, they may already be dead."

"Spyglass," Graves murmured, "what are you doing?"

* * *

"Commander, we have reached our last canister of ions," informed Spyglass.  
"Time till we can slingshot around that Asteroid?"  
"In six minutes we will be caught in it's gravitational pull; in eight we will be within it's shadow for a few minutes, in 13 our slingshot will be complete. But our ion reserves will not last any longer than one minute, and we will melt after two. Commander, your plan is not going to work.  
"Spyglass. Do you trust me?"  
"Not any more."

Blisk frowned.  
"Have you ever played Chess, Admiral?"  
"Many millions of times, Commander. Please get to your point quickly; we have little time."

"Let me tell you a story, Admiral.

A king engages in battle and is defeated. He flees with his queen and a few knights and pawns. The enemy cuts off his escape. Do you know what the king does?"

"I would have to see the board, Blisk."  
"Have I been demoted?"  
"Yes. 15 seconds until our ion supplies are depleted."

"Spyglass, don't you think it's time to sacrifice one of our Queens?"

There was a brief pause.

"Blisk, I do not understand the analogy. Players only have one queen while playing chess."

Blisk pushed a button on his console. "Logistics cruiser _IMS Queen of hearts,_ do you copy?"  
"Yes, Commander. Captain Edmond Wensley speaking."  
"_Queen of hearts, _can you remotely operate your ship?"  
"Yes, but it would be inadvisable for combat."

"Then I want you to eject your entire crew and evacuate to the _Hercules, _then set your ship to move directly between the _Hercules _and Solhephaestus."

"Commander, I'm not sure what -"  
"Just do it, Captain! We have little time!"  
"Very well. Ejecting crew."

The _Queen of hearts_ began to vent escape pods which moved slowly toward the _Hercules_.

"Blisk. Our hull is getting too hot. We have forty seconds. I will turn off life support and warp out of here in thirty."

"Trust me, Spyglass. Captain Wensley, do you copy?"  
"Loud and clear, boarding the _Hercules_ now."  
"Where is the _Queen of hearts?"_

"Directly behind the Hercules' thrusters, Commander."

"Activate your tactical jump drives, Captain. Spyglass, how are we looking for radiators now?"

"You are no longer a member of the bridge, Blisk, and I – oh."  
"Admiral?"  
"Commander Blisk, your rank has been reinstated. Bookmarking memories for tactical analysis."

Jump drives compress the space in front and behind them, increasing the speed at which objects moved in the direction of the jump drive. If used properly, they could be used to accelerate dangerous objects away from another ship.

Dangerous objects, such as the radiation from Solhephaestus.

"Radiator load decreasing to 97 percent, Commander.

Blisk grinned evilly.  
"Graves," he whispered. "I'm going to show you who's better."

"Commander Blisk, incoming transmission from Captain Wensley. Patching him through."

"Commander." Wensley said, a hint of fear in his voice. "There's something you need to know."  
Blisk leaned toward his console. "What?"  
"I lied. You can't manually operate a logistics cruiser from afar, not when there's so much radiation interfering with the infra-red signal."  
"Wait -"  
"And you know what they say about captains going down with their ships."

"Wensley -!"

"It's okay, Commander. I guessed what you were going to do. This was my own decision and I accept full responsibility. Updating system shutdown priorities for heat distribution. Setting warp drive to highest priority. Don't worry, Commander. Even after I die, the warp drive should continue to function for a – geez, it's hot in here." He sounded a little more panicky, a little more high pitched.

"Anyway, Commander. I have a favour to ask of you."

"Anything, Captain."  
"I object," said Spyglass. "There are limits to what we can do."  
"Admiral, please. We will make it happen. Continue, Captain."

"I have... a son. He's fourteen years old, lives in a boarding school back – ugh, I'm sweating. School on New Athens. His mother left me and I had to pay the bills somehow. Commander, I want you – nngghhh – to make sure he's taken care of."

Blisk stared straight at the man on the monitor, a man whose final words were to try secure the safety of his child.

"I promise, by the power of God in heaven above and by the power of men on Earth, that your son will be taken care of. I will ensure it personally and will pay from my own pocket if necessary."  
"Thank you, Commander... I can feel the heat, even now."

"Fire detected," the ship's AI said. "Venting Oxygen."

"Nobody would blame you if you ended it now, Captain. Do yourself a mercy if you wish."  
"No," Edmond said, and Blisk could see now that the man was caressing an old photograph. Printed on real paper with real ink. "I -" he gasped, "want to," _gasp, _"see -"

He collapsed to the ground. "one..."

"Commander. Radiators functioning at 87 percent. We will make it to the asteroid."  
"Admiral, please add Captain Edmond's son to my notebook and remind me of him when we reach Outpost 207. And add him to our black box's recordings."  
"You actually intend to honour your promise?"  
"Spyglass." Blisk glared straight at the robot's optical sensor. "Be he a friend or a foe, you _always_ honour a dying man's last wishes."


	14. The ceremony

Some of the text in this chapter is not my own work. I reference a speech by William Safire, speechwriter for President Nixon, and a poem by Cecil Spring Rice.

* * *

"Prepare for short-range jump to slingshot position," ordered Spyglass. "On my mark."

"Jump drives online!" reported the jump technician.  
"Copy that. Drives ready for jump. The _Strongarm_ is coming with us, too." reported the _Queen of Spades_.

"We're ready too," said the Captain of the _Queen of __Diamonds__. _"Preparing to accelerate the _Dreamgate_."  
"The _IMS __Rorschach_ will be in our Jump wake, Admiral," reported the _Queen of Clubs._

"Then the _Pillar of Winter_ will jump with us," said Spyglass. "Jumping will commence in 30 seconds."

The four warp-capable ships – the three remaining logistics cruisers and the _Hercules_ – jumped a few kilometres forward.

"Radiators at 96%," informed Spyglass. "Beginning slingshot around the asteroid. 96.5%. Now in asteroid's shadow, radiators cooling. 95%."

Six minutes later the entire fleet had swung around the asteroid, draining the asteroid's kinetic energy and adding it to their own. They now faced the opposite direction – headed straight for Outpost 207 -

_And going faster than Graves will expect,_ thought Blisk.

"Radiators at 97%," informed Spyglass. "We are now in a position to jump to Outpost 207."

_Which we would have been in, had we stayed in orbit around Hephaestus. But now we're a few million kilometres to the side – and we're travelling fast._

"All ships, move into position behind the _Hercules_, prepare for long-range jump. Charging jump drives. Radiators at 97.5%. Jump drive flywheels at 70% capacity."

"Spyglass," Blisk said suddenly. "We're still jumping to Outpost 207, but I want to cut the warp drives and cruise through space when we are at our closest to the militia."  
"Why?"  
"Do you trust me?"  
"Very well, Commander."

* * *

"Woah, Sir! The enemy fleet just jumped away from Solhephaestus!"

"What?"  
"They've dropped out of jump a couple light-seconds away from us!"  
"Prepare for battle, but hold fire. I can't think of any good reason for them to stop here."

"Field Commander, incoming message from the enemy fleet."  
"Patch it through."

* * *

"Spyglass," Blisk said, "We need to perform the Burial of the Brave."

"Commander, the Burial is but a pleasantry. It does not give us any strategic advantage."

"And yet, Admiral, performing it will raise our crew's morale, inspire them to make sacrifices for us in the future, and undermine the Militia's efforts to stop our return to Outpost 207."

"And you believe that making such a broadcast would... I already know what you are going to ask me. Very well commander. We shall perform the Burial, but we will jump if we detect incoming fire."  
"Then begin the broadcast."

"Fate has ordained that the Captain of the _IMS Queen of Hearts_ will forever rest in peace in orbit around Solhephaestus," began Spyglass, speaking pre-written words from an archive. "This brave man, Captain Edmond Wensley, lay down his life for the good of mankind's most noble goal: the search for truth and understanding, for peace and prosperity.

He will be mourned by his family and friends; he will be mourned by his nation; he will be mourned by a Mother Earth that dared send one of her sons into the unknown.

In his service he stirred all those who knew him to feel as one; in his sacrifice, he has bound us more tightly together.

In ancient days, men looked at stars and saw their heroes in the constellations. In modern times, we do much the same, but our heroes are epic men of flesh and blood."

"Commander," Spyglass said to Blisk separately, "detecting negative emotional response from the crew. Tell me why I should not abort."  
"They're crying because their comrade died, Spyglass. It is a mercy to give them closure. Better they weep now than hurt for the months to come."

"Others will follow his example," continued Spyglass to the crew. "Others will find their way home through his sacrifice. But this man was the first, and he will evermore remain foremost in our hearts. In mine, too."

"A necessary lie," explained Spyglass to Blisk. "I thought it would be a nice touch."

"For every human," Spyglass continued, "– no, for every living, thinking being who looks up at this star in the nights to come will know that there is some corner of another world that is forever mankind."

Spyglass stopped.  
"Detecting an incoming transmission from the Militia fleet. Patching them through to the bridge."

"Spyglass," came Graves' voice. "Have you grown a heart?"  
"That would be impossible, Graves. But I have developed an appreciation for those who go above and beyond their duty for the sake of others, especially when I am one of those who benefits."

Graves' reply came back 16 seconds later – they were 8 light-seconds apart, after all.

"Very well. And you are performing this ceremony for Wensley because of that?"  
"It eases the pain of the crew, so I am told."

"They won't feel any more pain if you surrender. Nor will anyone else."  
"That I cannot do, Graves."

"ALL STAND FOR THE ANTHEM!" bellowed Blisk, slamming his hand upon the fleet-wide intercom button.

"I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above,  
Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love;"

A thousand crew members broke into song, as was IMC tradition from days of old. They sang loudly, softly, through faces dry and eyes wet with tears.

"The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test,  
That lays upon the altar the dearest and the best;"

Wensley was well known within the fleet. He'd saved many a destroyer pilot's life with a well timed firing of his jump drives to whisk them out of danger. He'd endured many a punishment for 'wasting' a flywheel's worth of energy engaging said jump drives.

"The love that never falters, the love that pays the price,  
The love that makes undaunted the final sacrifice."

Some of them felt nothing but gladness that a man was being recognized for his sacrifice, others felt their hearts being wrenched from within their chests as they continued into the second verse.

"And there's another country, I've heard of long ago,  
Most dear to them that love her, most great to them that know;"

Some wondered what a country was, others decided that it mattered not.

"We may not count her armies, we may not see her King;  
Her fortress is a faithful heart, her pride is suffering;"

Spyglass hoped that the hymn would make his crew more faithful. Blisk hoped that, if he did die on the battlefield, such a hymn would be spoken about him. He was a mercenary, he fought for money. Nevertheless, he didn't want to die without being called a man of honor at least once.

"And soul by soul and silently her shining bounds increase,  
And her ways are ways of gentleness, and all her paths are peace."

The _Hercules _fired it's main cannon once and promptly re-engaged it's jump drives, continuing to Outpost 207.

"COMMUNICATIONS PROBE FIRED FROM THE _HERCULES!_" Screamed the chief of intelligence. "Preparing to intercept! NOW!"

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Roared Graves.

* * *

Three months later a communications probe plowed through the Solar System. Its message was picked up by the receiver satellites in high orbit about Earth and they relayed it to the appropriate authorities.

A day later, a school boy wept for his father, a woman wiped a tear from her eye for her ex-husband.

A week later seven cannons mounted atop the last green hill on Earth fired three times - seven blanks the first time, seven blanks the second time, six blanks and one brass bullet the final time.

Three words were graven upon the bullet:

"Captain Edmond Wensley."

As it soared into the stratosphere a chemical charge within it accelerated the bullet to orbital velocity.

Wensley was not the first to be honored in such a way, nor would he be the last. But from now until the end of time, his name would soar high above the Earth.

* * *

Author's note: no, that's not the end of the story. There will be more. That final section was to illustrate what happens to people who are given the heroic burial procedure; not to conclude. I haven't forgotten about Aisling, she's still the main character here.


	15. Not who they seem

THUMP THUMP THUMP

"Oi. Wake up!"

"Nghh..?"

Aisling groggily opened her eyes.

"What is it?"

"Riiiise and SHINE!" yelled Rimjob's voice. "We're burning daylight! And we don't have much of it!"

"What time is it?" she asked, sliding out of the bed.  
"655 hours!"  
"Why are you waking me up at 7:00?"  
"Because it's only a 22 hour day! Everyone else is awake already. I gave you a sleep in."  
"Not really..." She moaned. "This is early morning on Brink."  
"Aww, shut up," said Nathan from behind the door. "We've got to find a shuttle. It ain't gonna find itself."

"Anyway, I've got something to give you," said Rimjob. "Can I come in?"

"Sure."

Rimjob opened the door, came inside. "Okay, serious time. Me and Daniek were up at one o'clock last night, the _Shikinami_ dropped us presents. Here's yours."

He handed Aisling a smart pistol, a universal holster and a few spare magazines.

"Hide it. Mags in your pockets. Stick the pistol in the holster and then strap it to your body. It doesn't matter where, as long as the pistol can't be seen through your clothes. Strap it to your legs, your back... to be honest, I reckon the back is the best. Velcro the strap around your stomach and ribs, stick the pistol on, shirt on over top. Easy." He left the room with a wave. "Dinner's downstai- I mean, breakfast. Come on."

Aisling shut the door, locked it, dropped her pajamas to the ground and looked into a mirror.

_It's going to be hot outside. We're walking all day. And I have to conceal a pistol on me. _

_And then we find a shuttle. I go to Sorian with team E and steal a fleet for the IMC, like I promised to do. Then I take a shuttle back here and warp back home to Brink. Marvelous._

_Why did I agree to this plan?_

A knock on the door brought her back to reality. "Coming?" asked Nathan.  
"Give me a minute!"

_I could wear a skirt, put the holster on my thighs,_ she thought, touching her leg with the smart pistol. _Pistol would be between my legs... ugh. I don't even like skirts, though. And if I trip or fall, someone might see the pistol._

_I could tie the holster to my bra, and have the pistol hang under my boobs... _She turned sideways, looked into the mirror. _It's almost unnoticeable._

_Wait, hold on. Or I could just strap it to my hips, under my cargo pants. Three-quarter pants... yeah, should be just high enough to be practical in this heat. _

_Yeah, lets do that. _

She left her pajamas on the floor, found a pair of clean cargo pants. Strapped the holster to her side, over her panties, then pulled the cargo pants up over the gun. Hung a shirt over her shoulders. Sure, her hips might get a bit hot. But there wasn't anywhere else she could put it.

"Jeez, you take a while."  
She flung the door open. "Happy?"  
Nathan smirked. "About time. C'mon, breakfast downstairs."

* * *

"O_hayou gozaimasu__, goshuujin-sama!_" sang a maid, entering Sophia's room to wake her.  
"Huh?" Sophia stared at the maid. "What does that mean?"  
"Good morning, Ma'am! I thought you were from New Tokyo, so -"  
"Oh, no. I'm just a contractor, I don't actually come from there."  
"I see, Ma'am. May I ask where you come from?"

"I'm from a small planet, even smaller than this one. You probably wouldn't have heard of it."

"Oh, very well."

Sophia smiled. "It's lovely to be off the ship, though. The atmosphere was too thick there. Here, it's almost right."  
"How interesting!"

"So... when will breakfast be served?"  
"Our chefs are preparing it for you as we speak, Ma'am. How does bacon, eggs and croissants sound?"

"Fantastic. I look forward to it!"

She left the room and waddled down a corridor towards the bathroom.

"Oh, hey."

She turned. Saw George the Pilot leave his room.  
"Hey..."  
"You're up early."  
"Well... I grew up on a planet like this. With smaller days."  
"Oh yeah? Can't say the same, I was born on an exoplanet."  
"Ah... then, you're up _really_ early."  
"It's my job to look after you guys," he said, smiling through tired eyes. Leaned in close to her ear, whispered. "I was up late last night intercepting a 'package'. Here's yours."

He slipped a smart pistol, holster and four magazines into her hand. The only things that Venice 3's customs would have raised eyebrows over.

"Strap it under your clothes. Keep it hidden, use it only if necessary."

"Yes! I mean, -"

"Good." He closed his eyes, stepped away from her. "Well. I'm going to sleep for half an hour. I'll see you later..."  
"See ya." She walked past him, was about to step into the bathroom.  
"_Ms. Hammond."_

She froze.

* * *

An hour later, Aisling, Nathan, Philip and the two and a half platoons of IMC soldiers were on the streets in plainclothes, struggling through the piercing heat. Venice 3 was so close to Solvenice that, despite Venice 3's thin atmosphere, the temperature still regularly hit 35 degrees Celsius (Author's note: 0 degrees Celsius is freezing, 100 degrees Celsius is boiling. 10 degrees Celsius is a cold day, and, where I live, 30 degrees Celsius is a hot day. 40 degrees Celsius is approaching Earth's highest natural temperature. 37.5 degrees Celsius is the average human's core body temperature and it makes for a _sweltering _hot day. Think, "damn, we might have to shut down schools for the day or else students might get heatstroke" level hot.).

The thin atmosphere made dehydration especially dangerous. Water evaporated at a lower temperature from normal. Sweat would evaporate easier and at a lower temperature, forcing people to consume more water than normal to keep themselves cool. This turned out to be the reason for the salty water at breakfast – if they hadn't have had salts and minerals with the water they would have lost all their salts through their sweat. Consuming salts and minerals at meal times meant they could drink unsalted water through the day.

"Ugh," groaned Philip as he emptied his water-bottle for the third time. "I'm out again."

"Pilots, do you seen any water fountains around?" asked Officer Bryan Macross over his radio. "Yet another empty bottle."

Daniek sighed from a nearby rooftop. "Affirmative, three hundred metres, two o'clock. Over."  
"Thanks. We're sending someone over to fill his bottle up. Keep an eye on him, please. Over."

(Author's note: Wilco is short for Will Comply. Means "I will comply with the orders you have given me."

"Wilco. And, no problem. It's what I'm here for."  
"That bloody sun, though..."  
"You think _you've _got it hard? I'm in a cloaking suit!"  
"Aren't the suits cooled?"  
"Grunt rumor. Yes, they're cooled, but only while the cloaking is turned off. If you turn your cloaking on the suit starts insulating you to prevent thermal scanners from detecting you. It gets hot real quick."  
"But not that qui-"  
"Imagine running around in a sub-zero suit."  
"Oh. Shit."  
"Yeah."

"Quiet on the radio," said Jaggerjack, annoyed. "Keep the channel clear unless it's an emergency. Out."

* * *

"How do you know?" Sophia whispered to the man behind her.

"That's a secret," he yawned.  
"It's my secret."  
"It's safe with me."  
"No, it's not," she hissed, spinning around, slamming and then pinning him to the wall.

"Woah," he said, eyebrow raised slightly. "You're a lot different when you're out of character."

"You tell me right this instant how you found out."

"Different accent, more aggressive..."

"How did you find out?" she snarled.  
"Look, I'm not going to tell you. I _can't_. But rest assured, nobody else is going to find out, either by me or by the way I found out."  
"I used a fake name, a fake age, I spoke with the accent. How can you be so sur-"  
"Because I covered your tracks for you."  
"Wel – wait, what?

"I covered your tracks for you. I know you want to stay hidden; you signed up for this voyage with a fake name. And from what I'd seen of you in basic training you seemed like a nice enough kid. I don't know why you're hiding, _Sophia Louise Hammond_, but there are three things you need to know:

One, that you aren't being careful enough,  
Two, you can never be too careful,  
and Three, I am your ally. I'll be keeping an eye on you. If you need anything, let me know."

She stood in silence for a moment, then,

"You're going to help me?"  
"See, there it is. That's your normal accent."  
"Yeah. This is how I normally speak."  
"Well, yes. I'm going to help you. I have no reason not to, right?"

"Thank you, George." A single tear rolled out of the side of her eye. It had been too long since the last time someone who knew her true identity had been kind to her.  
"My pleasure."

* * *

The Venice system sat in the middle of six other systems - Carlyle, Yuma, and Nexus were closest, with jump times of around 100 hours for a large enough shuttle while Leviathan, Hephaestus and Haven all stayed 350 hours away. The way that the six systems were all positioned _relatively _closely around the Venice system ensured that the Venice system was a trading hub. It's low gravity ensured that ships could unload their goods without having to burn lots of fuel to move it between ships or to the ground, and it's proximity to Carlyle meant that ships could easily refuel cheaply.

United Planetary Shipping had perfected the art of intersystem shipping. UPS freighters would loop around Solvenice, Solcarlyle, one of the other aforementioned nearby systems, then back to Solvenice again. Because their ships only ever slingshot themselves from star to star, they didn't ever stop and thus didn't ever have to refuel their engines, just their warp drives. Customers would request shipping for their items and the next UPS ship would drop out of warp for half an hour while the freight was loaded before re-engaging its' enormous warp drives again. After all, the mass of a large warp drive wasn't an issue if you didn't need to burn extra fuel to accelerate it.

It was only 8:00 AM, but the markets of Alpha were already hot and bustling. The low gravity encouraged the merchants to decorate their stalls with eye-catching signs towering high into the sky and the thin atmosphere forced potential buyers _of_ said merchandise to walk slowly through the market.

Crossguard glanced at the stall in front of him through his sunglasses, tried to ignore all the bright colours and noise around him. If the atmospheric pressure had been normal this would have been deafening but due to the thin air the sounds of the market sounded muffled – almost blurred together – until you got close to what was making the noise.

"Excuse me," he asked, getting the shopkeepers' attention, "Aren't guns illegal at Alpha?"

The man smiled a gold-toothed grin. "Aye. Ye have teh ave a license teh buy one, an' then I wrap it up in a special box. Teh box'll tell meh if yeh open it, lad. Yeh can buy a gun, if yeh want, but I'll kno if yeh try teh use it."

"I see. How much?"  
"50 credits, Sir."

"They're screwing team E over," reported Hilt from an alleyway 100 metres (Author's note: a quick stroll, for those readers who use the imperial system) away. "I can buy a carbine here for 50 credits."

"Holy shit," swore Ashley Stone from orbit. "You serious?"  
"Yes, Ma'am."  
"Jeez. Jzaque is trying to sell them for 150."  
"Your orders please, Ma'am."  
"Right. Proceed as we planned. Find unmarked probes, send them to Demeter, Outpost 207 and Brink, then lie low until extraction. If those probes are traced back to us, we're screwed."  
"Copy that, Ma'am. Hilt out."

* * *

Stone sighed. "Captain, we're getting screwed over by the shiphoarder."

"Really?" Soryuu raised her eyebrows.

"By 300%, which is _way_ too much. We won't be able to help the IMC forces on the frontier at all if everything is this expensive. I'm going to tell them to leave."  
"That Jzaque isn't going to be happy."

"No, Captain. He probably planned to get rich quick off us, and now he's going to be in debt to some bank for the loans for his temporary mansion."

"Too bad. Proceed as you see fit, Mission specialist."

Stone pushed a button on her console.

"George, Stone here."

"Copy that.

"Long message. B team is at the markets right now, they say that Lucian is screwing you guys over with prices. He's got you in his mansion, taking your orders for our merchandise and then selling it to you with a ridiculous surcharge. Over."  
"Roger so far."

Stone gave a brief pause to wait for any important messages to come through on the radio channel before continuing. "I've found a suitable inn for you guys to stay at. Get your team's bags packed and your soldiers to conceal their weapons, then move out to a location I'm about to disclose. You'll be buying direct from the markets from now on. Over."  
"Awaiting coordinates, Roger so far."

Stone paused again, then, "31 degrees, 29 minutes, 22.2448 seconds north, 6 degrees, 24 minutes, 53.5813 seconds west. Saying again, 31 degrees, 29 minutes, 22.2448 seconds north, 6 degrees, 24 minutes, 53.5813 seconds west. Over."  
"So, not the same inn as the other teams? Over."

"Negative. I've booked some rooms for your team. Move your bags over there and set up camp. Over."  
"How do you want us to send the merchandise to you? You want us to buy guns and ammunition and food and fuel. How can we send them up to the Shikinami? Over."  
"Still working on that, Pilot. We're thinking about using the container accelerator cannon just north of your position. Over."  
"Wilco with your orders concerning moving the team to the inn. Out."

With that, George put his radio transmitter into his pocket.

_I should tell the team to get ready to move first, Lucian could get angry when I tell him that we're leaving. _

He saw the physicist John in a corridor in front of him.

"Oi, John."  
The man turned. "Oh, hi, Sir."  
"Get ready to leave this place. We're going to the markets after all."  
"Really? Okay then."

An hour later E team was ready to go. There was only one last thing to do.

George knocked on Lucian's door. "Jzaque? You there?"

Jzaque flung the door open. "Indeed, friend! How does the day treat you?"

"Fine. Listen, I've got something to tell you."  
"Oh? What is it?"  
"You're screwing us over. That carbine we ordered, the one that you sold us for 150 credits? It goes for 50 at the markets. Same goes for the ammunition and the supplements."  
"But... the registration!" Jzaque cried, nervously. "The guns in the markets won't be registered! A – aaand the ammunition! Uh... the ammunition costs extra to have its quality checked! Then the-"  
"Sorry Jzaque. We'll be trying our luck at the markets. Orders from above."

"Wait, please!" he ran out of his room. "I'm begging y-"

And then he tripped over his robes.

"Lets go, E team," George said over the radio.

* * *

"They're gone?"  
"Yes, Sir. Gone."  
"Damn. How did they know?"  
"I'm not sure," Lucian said into a radio, "but I think they had spies in the markets. They are not who they seem."  
"Odd for a trading ship to send a trading party down in secret."  
"Indeed, Sir."  
"You've done well, Lucian. What did you say they purchased?"  
"A carbine, Sir."  
"Very well. Thank you for this information, Lucian. You will be rewarded."

The man on the radio turned.

"Follow that trading team," he ordered to a woman behind him. "I want to know where they go and what they buy."  
"Yes, Sir." The woman faded into the background as if she were wearing a cloaking suit.

"And Bish. Get me the camera feeds of the markets. I want to know the name and face of every person to have purchased a carbine over the last three days. We're going to find that secret trading team."


	16. Samel

Author's note: Well. I thought I'd be finished by chapter 16 :P . Ah well, it's time to write some more.

* * *

Sophia subtly smirked at the soldiers in her squad as they stepped through the sweltering marketplace, sweat slowly oozing from their every pore. She, on the other hand, had spent most of her life on Helios. She was used to this.

Helios was an IMC colony built amidst the core worlds on a small (and thus low-gravity) planet orbiting its sun rather closely. The thin atmosphere brought on by the low-gravity environment barely reduced the sun's glare, resulting in its inhabitants developing heavy tans. The low gravity meant that their spines tended to stretch out further than usual, leaving them incredibly tall. Finally, the thin atmosphere meant that Helians tended to grow stronger lungs than humans living elsewhere. This lead to Helian voices naturally being louder than normal. A person growing up on Helios would physically mature completely differently from a person growing up on, say, Earth.

Richard Hammond the first was a scientist born on Earth. _He_ created Hammond Robotics and helped to invent the Warp and Jump drives. _He_ created the four Legacy drives, _He_ oversaw the creation of the four colony ships, _He_ authorised their three-month voyage to the frontier. When reports came back of incredible wealth and natural resources to be mined, _he_ subsidised colonists' travel costs out of his own pocket.

Then the frontier exploded into Galactic War One (GW1). Creative use of warp drives from both sides kept noncombatants in fear for their lives, no matter where they lived. Two of the Colony ships (the legacy carriers _HMD Austraeus _and _HMD Dauntless__) _survived. The legacy star destroyer _HMD Atlas _was completely obliterated when the separatists destroyed Uranus. The legacy logistics carrier _HMD Dawntreader_ was last seen approaching a gas giant to refuel when it mysteriously disappeared, never to be seen again. Hammond, overcome with rage at the senseless war created the Titan program, naming the first generation Titan after the legacy star destroyer he had christened with his own hands.

The first generation pilots struck with a force of a magnitude never seen before. The capital ship _HMD Wrath of the __A__ngels_ jumped into a separatist-held system and dropped the Titans. At first, the separatists laughed at the meagre orbital bombardment, then began to collapse in terror as said artillery fire _stood up and began tearing the turrets off their tanks. _The Pilots were the stuff of nightmares, each capable of single-handedly slipping into bases undetected and slaughtering every combatant inside. GW1 ended with the separatists' surrender after the _Wrath of the __Angels _dropped fifty titans onto the separatists' homeworld. The Pilots were the knights, the Titans were their steeds, and Hammond was their king before he died three months after the war ended.

Richard Hammond the second was his eldest child and the heir of Hammond Robotics. He created the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation, and organised the partnership between the IMC and Hammond Robotics. When he passed away his eldest, Richard Hammond the third inherited Hammond Robotics, who passed it on to his firstborn, Richard Hammond the fourth.

Helios was an IMC colony built amidst the core worlds on a small (and thus low-gravity) planet orbiting its sun rather closely. The thin atmosphere brought on by the low-gravity environment barely reduced the sun's glare, resulting in its inhabitants developing heavy tans. The low gravity meant that their spines tended to stretch out further than usual, leaving them incredibly tall. Finally, the thin atmosphere meant that Helians tended to grow stronger lungs than humans living elsewhere. This lead to Helian voices naturally being louder than normal. A person growing up on Helios would physically mature completely differently from a person growing up on, say, Earth.

If someone from Earth had a child and raised the child on Helios, the child would look very different from the parent. The resemblance would be hard to notice at the least.

If, _purely hypothetically_, Richard Hammond the fourth had fathered an illegitimate daughter, and, if, purely hypothetically, Richard Hammond the fourth wanted to continue the line of firstborn Hammond boys, Helios would be the perfect place to hide the daughter.

The daughter being the true heir of both the IMC and Hammond Robotics.

Sophia Louise Hammond of Helios approached a shopkeeper and asked to buy 10 bags of potatoes.

* * *

"AHA! Gotcha!" roared the second man, grabbing hold of Elizabeth's shoulder. She screamed for a second before he slammed his hand over her mouth.

"No more," the first man puffed. "Stop running. We've got you now. You're with us."

Elizabeth poked her tongue out of her mouth, licked the second man's hand.

"Ew!" said the second man, uncovering her mouth for a second. She screamed and he covered her mouth again.

"STOP THAT YOU DIRTY STREET," he shouted, then a bad word that she thought meant 'female dog.' Then he hit her, and Elizabeth felt her head snap to the side as his fist connected with her cheek. She started to cry.

* * *

"Alright, that's it," Aisling growled into her earpiece. "I don't give a fuck about what you say. _I am going to go beat the living shit out of that asshole_."  
"Aisling," said Daniek frantically, "Don't draw attention to us-"

"OI!" she screamed at the man, striding up to him.

* * *

Elizabeth could see, through her tears, a short blonde woman stride up to the second man. The second man laughed.

* * *

Aisling balled her hands into fists, pulled her left hand up to guard her head and reeled back her right fist like a bolt in a crossbow, before releasing it into the man's head like a bolt from a crossbow with the weight of a 50 kilogram adult woman behind it. Felt his head snap backwards before pulling his shoulders with it.

* * *

"Oh boy," muttered Jaggerjack into his earpiece. "I'm in sniping position. Safeties off, fire on my mark. Big one's mine, small one's yours, Daniek. Over."  
"Wilco, Jack."  
"So I'm gonna miss out?" asked Rimjob, disappointed.  
"Sorry, but your LMG isn't accurate enough for this. And it's in orbit."  
"I could call it down -"  
"NO."

* * *

He brought his left arm up to his cheek, stumbled backwards a step.

"What the hell?" he mumbled through broken teeth. Spat blood onto the ground.

The short one moved towards her, a knife in hand. He lunged forward, knife sliding through the air just left of her neck. Her left and moved upwards, knocking his elbow, preventing any slashes on the return.

Just because Brink was a core world didn't mean it was free of street fights.

Nathan was running up behind her. Just her and her wingman. Or was she _his_ wingman?

Did it matter?

The tall one shook his head to clear it and suddenly he was charging them.

"I'll take the big one!" Aisling yelled to Nathan. She stepped to the side, fired a left cross, fist darting out to meet the side of his head then back to guard her head.

Would it hurt? Not much. It would make him blink.

She grabbed his collar, dragged his neck to the side, slammed her right fist upwards into the man's gut, crushing his stomach, breaking a rib, winding him.

She pulled her fist back for another strike.

_Ba-dump._

She stumbled backwards, felt her heart.

Adrenaline was one hell of a drug, but she still had to breathe eventually. She doubled over, lungs heaving as the tall man coughed up more blood.

"What's going on here?!" called a voice from afar. "OI! FREEZE! POLICE!"

* * *

"Hold fire," whispered Jaggerjack. "Contact, three o'clock. Over."  
"I see him," replied Daniek.  
"Let me take him," pleaded Rimjob. "I'll use my wingman."  
"Very well, Rimjob. Take the one in the uniform, on my mark. Over."  
"Wilco. Awaiting mark, out."

* * *

"He," _breathe_, "punched," _breathe_, "the girl," gasped Aisling through lungs too small for the thin air.

"No," muttered the short man, "he didn't -"  
"Stap lyin!" screeched a grey haired woman leaning out of a window. "He hit the gurl! I saw et!"

"Yeh! Yeh 'e deed!" roared a dark-haired man leaning out of a door. "I saw eet as weel!"

"Well -" the Police officer said, "Then you two are under arrest. Hands behind your back."

The tall man collapsed onto the ground.

"I may have," _breathe_, "hit him a bit," _breathe_, "hard," Aisling wheezed.

"Mmm," the officer mumbled absent-mindedly. "Doesn't look like they're in much position to resist. I'm going to take these two down to the station, are you three okay?"

_Three?_

"I'm okay," said the girl. The officer crouched down to her height.  
"How old are you, kid?"

"72 kilohours old."

"What's your name?"  
"Elizabeth Samel."

Aisling's eyes widened.

* * *

Rimjob burst into laughter. "Well tell me that ain't the find of the century, lads."  
"It appears that we are in luck," noted Jaggerjack.

* * *

Aisling knelt down towards Elizabeth Samel – she didn't have to go far, Venice 3 had low gravity and this girl had grown taller than children on Brink because of it – and asked, "Elizabeth Samel, does your dad run a shuttle store?"  
"No. Daddy works at a shuttle Emporlium."  
"Can you lead us there?


	17. Menelaus

The shipyard Elizabeth led them to wasn't particularly large – a quarter of a square kilometre, perhaps. It was dusty. It was sandy. It was hot. It had a small concrete shack built just to the entrance. And there was a large shuttle resting in the very centre, metal internals strewn across the ground underneath it.

"Daddy?" Elizabeth called. "Are you there?"

A bang came from the shuttle's bowels. "Elizabeth? Is that you?!"  
"Daddy!"

She dropped Aisling's hand and sprinted toward the shuttle and only just managed to dodge a tall red-haired man falling out of the cargo hold.  
"Elizabeth! You're okay!"  
He scooped her into his arms, squeezed her tight to his chest.  
"Daddy,.. you don't need to squeeze so hard..."

He put her down on the ground, patted her head. "Sorry. I'm just glad you're okay." He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

"Daddy, this is Aisling."

The man turned to see Aisling walking slowly toward him.

"Who are you? Did you help bring Eliza back?"  
"She fighted the bad guys," explained Elizabeth. "Her and the boy."  
"I'm Aisling," Aisling introduced herself. "Pleased to meet you."

The man bowed low.  
"I will forever be grateful, Ms. Aisling. If there is anything I can do for you – oh, hold on. Julie!"  
"Hold on, I'm on the phone!" came a yell from the shack. "I think I've got a lead!"  
"You don't need to look any longer, Elizabeth's here!"  
"EH?!"

A tall woman sprinted out of the shack. "Who found her?!"  
"This girl here." Elizabeth's father turned to Aisling. "Look, if there's anything I can do..."  
"Well, actually..." She paused for a moment, Laughed. "We need a jump shuttle that can carry everyone here. And then another jump shuttle to carry, say – what, 20 cryo pods?"  
"Seems about right," confirmed Nathan, walking up behind her. "We just don't have the parts and were hoping we could purchase such a shuttle."

Samel's eyes widened. "Marvellous! I have other orders, but I'll push you guys to the top of the list. But I hope you understand you're paying. We're not exactly loaded."  
Jaggerjack stepped forward, Longbow DMR concealed under his uniform. "We understand, Mr. Samel. We're prepared to cover the costs."  
Samel smiled. "Well, as luck would have it, I have _three_ small jump shuttles. Stick the cryo pods in one and the rest of you in the other two; you'd have more than enough space."  
"Fantastic. I'm Jack, by the way." He shook Samel's hand. "When can we have the shuttles by?"  
"It'll take a few days to get them ready; the chassis are fresh out of the box. I'll have to install the engines, fuel them up and install an AI aboard the computers."  
"If Aisling, Nathan and Philip helped you, could you get them done quicker?"

Samel frowned. "Well, yes, but it depends on how good they are with a spanner."  
Jaggerjack smiled. "Engineers fresh from the Yuma system. They're not half bad with mechanical stuff."  
"Very well then." Samel grinned at the three. "I'll be taking on three apprentices, then! Lets see if we can't get this done in a day."  
"Uhh..." mumbled Philip, "I'm a physicist, not a mechan-"  
"Relax!" Jaggerjack thumped him on the back. "You'll do just fine."  
"Okay-"

Samel turned back to Jaggerjack. "Well, we're going to need fuel and an AI core. Speaking of fuel; what are you going to be using these things for? Cos I could-"  
"System jumpers. We're looking to jump fast and dirty. Oh yeah, speaking of which, one of the shuttles doesn't need to have a jump drive. We've already got one with us."  
"Okay then. Well, for system jumping, you'd be looking at either MPD thrusters or chemical rockets – I'm thinking a hybrid or a bi-propellant -"  
"We'll take the chemical hybrid, please," said Aisling.  
"Got some experience with them, have you?" asked Samel.  
"Yeah, we used to put them together back at home."  
"Very well then, hybrid it is. Jack, if you or one of your friends could go out to the market and get some fuel, oxidizer and an AI core for me, that would be fantastic."

* * *

"Sir. There were twelve carbines purchased within the designated period of time. We have located the shopkeeper who sold a carbine to the most suspicious-looking customer."

"Bring the shopkeeper to the Senate building. I'll be there in a moment."

The man with the radio swept rich red and gold robes onto his back, rose from his chair, and left the building.

* * *

"How about there?" asked Eoin Ireton, pointing towards a store-front that had a sign reading 'Venice &amp; related systems intelligence services', a few hundred metres away. "Look – 'Voted best merchant intelligence service, 3 Venice-years in a row. Low prices, quality intelligence, no questions asked. Sounds exactly what we're looking for. Over."  
"Copy, Ireton," said Misha from a nearby rooftop, blending in with a chimney pipe, hiding from the blazing sun in it's small shadow. "Your call, I can't see it from here. Over."  
"We'll do it, Over."  
"Very vell. Movingk to a pozition to cover you. Out."

Team A was on the hunt for information regarding militia movements over the past three months. So far all of the other information agencies had only been able to supply stock prices and such; archives of the movements of the Militia were apparently hard to come by.

Now Ireton, Baxter and Street were approaching the entrance to one such agency, the rest of Team A scattered through the rest of the CBD looking for digital news archives, infonet cafés – anything they could find to give them extra information on enemy movements. Misha found herself scattered amongst them, ready to provide cover whenever one of the soldiers was about to enter a building.

The procedure of having Misha move about to ensure she could provide covering fire in an emergency was both tedious and necessary. Tedious, because the sun beat down so hard one could almost feel it exerting a force, and necessary, because they were soldiers deep in enemy territory.

Specifically, the CBD. Not far from Alpha's spaceport, the CBD was comprised of small, low buildings made of clay and mortar salvaged from the ground and tall behemoths of steel rising high into the thin sky.

Misha engaged her cloaking device and broke into a sprint along the roof of one such low building, felt the heat from the cloaking device begin roasting her alive. She leaped from the roof of her current building, pulsed her jump-kit's engines, tucked into a roll and disengaged her cloaking device the moment she stopped. Brought her pistol to her eye, ready to fire on any hostiles.

"I'm in pozition. Out."

Ireton, Baxter and Street strode into the building.

"Desk, 12 o'clock," muttered Ireton under his breath. "Secretary."  
"Good afternoon!" smiled the secretary. "How can we help you?"  
"We're merchants from New Tokyo," replied Baxter. "We had some trouble getting here, and we're a bit out of the loop. We're looking for all the news of the last... I dunno, three months?" She looked to Ireton as if she wasn't sure of the exact time.  
"Yeah, around about that."  
"Well, you've come to the right place!" said the Secretary, and Baxter could see that she was good at smiling. "We're one of the few companies on Venice 3 that makes long term generic archives. Take a look at the sign on the wall, there." She motioned to a poster, indicating how their service worked and how much it would cost. "We let you access our archives and make as many copies as you like. We charge two hundred credits per gigabyte of our information you leave here with. Will that be okay?"  
"You've got news articles? And current events?"  
"Absolutely, Sir!" the secretary sang.  
"Then that will be just fine with us."

* * *

"Captain, we're receiving an incoming transmission from team A. It looks like some news articles, Ma'am."

Soryuu frowned for a moment. "Overwatch, analyse the information that we're receiving and mark the most important points for us. Display the information on the main monitor.

Okay everyone, listen up. Team A just confirmed, Demeter was destroyed by a Militia attack. Aaaand – oh, that's very interesting. Roberts, you should take a look at this."  
"They completed development of the Spectre mechanical infantry units? Wow. And they've been fighting with those instead?"  
"Indeed. Looks like we might have half a cha- oh. Shit."  
"The Militia has been destroying Spectre production facilities. If one more falls, the IMC forces here won't be able to produce a sustainable amount of Spectres."  
"They're hiding out on Outpost 207 – wow, good guess, Tactician Johnson."  
The man smiled. "I try."  
"Nevertheless, we need to get to Outpost 207 as soon as possible, with the biggest army we can."

"Captain?" said Stone. "Team D just found some shuttles. They'll have the first one ready in a day."

* * *

Venice 3 was governed by the Venice Senate, an assembly of twelve politicians who argued for and against various motions regarding the planet. They met in the Senate building, a glorious pillar of shining steel rising high into the air.

Beneath the Senate building, unbeknownst to the other 11 senators, a shopkeeper sobbed.  
"Please! I don't know anything, I swear!"

The man with the radio sighed, shook his head. "But," he said, biting the end of his finger out of habit and then pointing it at the man in shackles, "I _need_ to know who he was." He frowned, stood up, folded his arms. "Speaking of which, do you know who I am?"  
"N-no..?"  
The man with the radio closed his eyes in mock sadness. "Are you serious? I do so much work for this planet and _nobody _has the decency to know who I am?

He leaned in close to the man in shackles, one foot on the dusty ground, one foot on his chair. "I'm Styx Menelaus," he smiled, "fourth seat of the senate."  
"The senate? Then, you're -"  
"Shhh," whispered Menelaus. "Yes, you're right. I'm the one who's trying to save us from the IMC scum."

The shopkeeper blinked.

"But they're not even that bad. They're all locked up in that outpost -"  
"No, no, no. That won't do," muttered Menelaus. "The IMC are not to be trusted. We must _eradicate _them. Don't you agree?"  
"Well -"  
Menelaus sighed. "Wrong answer. Jason, whip him some more."  
"Yes, Sir," said a tall, muscular man with an enormous reel of red-stained leather.

"No, ple- AUUUGHHHAAAAAAAAAA!"

Menelaus rolled his eyes. "That's enough, Jason. Look, shopkeep, all I want is for you to tell me anything you can about the man you sold that carbine to."  
"Is, he IMC?" the shopkeeper asked between gasps and groans of pain.  
"Yes. No. We're not sure." Menelaus turned around. "But that ship that jumped in sent a trading team to one of my agents and somehow got outside information. That's suspicious in itself." He whiled around. "SO START REMEMBERING THINGS! Details, ANYTHING THAT COULD HELP US FIND THAT MAN!"  
"I've told you everything I know! Black hair, brown eyes, black cloak, large purse of cash!"  
"And I don't know anything!" the shopkeeper cried. "Please, believe me. I would have told you by now. Just... give me some truth serum. Ask me whatever you want! I just want to go home!"

Menelaus groaned. "But the truth serum is no _fun_," he whined. "Alright, Jason-

At this point, Menelaus' personal communicator began beeping.  
"Hold on, I've got a call. Shut up everyone. Hello?"

"Sir..."  
"Oh, for fuck's sake. Did you idiots get arrested again?"  
"Yes..."  
"What were you doing? I asked you to collect some _debts_, not make my job any harder."  
"Well... this couple wouldn't pay up, so we took their daughter as compensation. And then she was struggling, and -"  
"_Did you hit the bitch in public?_"  
"Yes, Sir."  
"Honestly." Menelaus rolled his eyes. "Fine. Put me over to the police chief."

He heard chatter on the other end of the comms line.

"Yeah, this is Styx Menelaus," Menelaus said lazily. "These two men were acting under my jurisdiction, blah blah blah. Let them go, will ya?

What?

Look, either you let them go now and you get the resource consent you've been wanting, or you make me come down there in person, you _still_ have to let them go, _and_ you lose your job... and your son's application for schooling is rejected. Happy?

That's what I thought. All hail the Militia, keep up the good work." Menelaus ended the call. Grinned at the shopkeeper who withered like a flower trying to grow under Solvenices' blaze.

"Now, where were we?"

* * *

"Hmm," murmured Soryuu from the bunk in the bridgewomans' quarters, reading through the information that Team A had purchased.

"What?" yawned a communications technician.  
"A lot has changed in three months. Demeter was destroyed almost exactly three months ago – so, pretty much exactly when we left Brink. Oh – wow, the frontier IMC finished their Spyglass AI, which is now the Vice Admiral of their fleet. Did Marcus get promoted Admira -" She stopped, confused.

Surely her eyes weren't working, surely the information was false.

All she could say was, "Oh."


	18. The Militia

"We're being followed. Over."  
"Oh. Bearing?"  
"Black skin, one point nine metres tall. I think he's African with a little bit of Asian in him too. Light green jacket. Over.  
"I see him," said Hilt. "Over."  
"Same," said Crossguard. "Over."  
"If he's near you, he won't be near us," said Gauntlet. "Over."  
"We'll be careful, though," added Cornerstone. "There may be someone following us. Over."  
"Good. Keep your eyes peeled, gentlemen," advised Bruce. "Out."

* * *

"Is this the man who purchased a carbine from you?" asked Menelaus, waving a printed photograph in front of the shopkeeper's face.  
"Ye – yes, it is," the exhausted man replied.

Menelaus spun on one foot, flipped open his communicator.  
"That's them. Continue tailing them. I want to what the _Shikinami_ is _really _doing as soon as possible."

* * *

Aisling stepped backwards, wiped the sweat from her forehead, admired the shuttle.

She was shaped like a chisel, sloped front to allow it to slide through the air when it was in an atmosphere. Two large mass drivers sat on swivels at the back, capable of pivoting downwards and firing for hovering or vertical take-offs. The other two mass drivers sat just underneath the front of the shuttle, ready for a vertical take off, but able to move to the sides to assist the other mass drivers to accelerate the shuttle forwards if necessary.

"Oi! We're not done yet!" called Mr. Samel from deep inside.

She rolled her eyes. Mr. Samel was a good father, an excellent trader and knew his way around a shuttle like nobody she'd ever seen – but he'd worked them like donkeys over the last three hours. It impressed and slightly terrified her that they'd managed to install four engines in that time – if everyone on Venice 3 worked at this rate, the mechanics on Brink would be out of a job. If it weren't for the enormous distance between the core and the frontier.

"Coming!" she called, grabbing her spanner. "What now?"  
"Now we're installing the chairs. Each shuttle will seat 35, is that okay?"  
"Yeah, but this first one is gonna have cryopods instead, remember?"  
"Oh yeah, that's right. In that case, we might have a break for lunch now."

Aisling could actually hear the sighs of relief from Nathan and Philip.

"Aisling!" squealed a voice behind her.

"Hello, Eliza!" laughed Aisling. She ruffled the smaller (although, not by much) girl's head. "How's it going?"

The girl's smile was infectious, intoxicating. "Great! I helped mummy move the furniture out of our house today!"

After Elizabeth had been kidnapped the family had decided to move closer to the shuttle emporium that Mr. Samel owned. The new house was apparently smaller than the old, and further away from the CBD, but it meant that Mr. Samel could walk to work in a few minutes.

"Speaking of which, here comes the truck now!" said Aisling, pointing at a light green van headed toward the shuttle emporium.

It pulled to a halt, people in the passenger seats jumped out.

_It was the men from earlier._

One, sticking plasters covering his face, the other, arm in a cast. They limped slowly towards Aisling and Elizabeth.

Recognition darted over their faces. One turned to the other. A heated discussion. One of them pointed at Aisling. They stopped, stared at her, and she glared back.

They pulled Hammond P2011 semi-automatic handguns out of their pockets, trained them on her, continued their slow limp as she stared defiantly toward them.

"Get behind me, Elizabeth," she whispered.

"SAMEL!" the tall one roared. "Where are you?!"  
"Right here," Mr. Samel said, striding up to them.

A punch to his jaw sent him groundwards.

"Money's overdue, Samel," the tall one spat. "Maybe we should just kill ya now."  
"No, please, I-"

The short man brought his heel down on Mr. Samel's leg and he screamed.

"You ever gonna pay it back?"  
"I HAVE THE MONEY!" Samel screamed. "I have the money now, okay?!"

The men stepped back, surprised. "What?"  
"I just got a client, okay?! They wanted three shuttles and paid in advance," Mr. Samel panted. "So, I've got your money now! Let me go get it!"

He hauled himself up onto two feet and the men followed him into the emporium's shack, glaring at Aisling as they went. She contemplated drawing her Smart Pistol, killing the two right here. But Samel seemed to have things under control, and she didn't want to compromise his safety.

A few silent minutes later, the men left the shack with an envelope in the tall one's hands. He glared at Aisling as he passed.

"Try anything like that again," he said, through a mouth covered with bandages, "and you're dead. Understand?" He pointed a finger gun at her head.

She didn't answer, just kept staring for a few seconds, then whirled around to face Mr. Samel.

"What on earth -"

He sighed. "Alright, guys, come inside. I'll explain everything over lunch."

* * *

"Mr Menelaus?" the short man asked over his communicator. "He - he had the money for the taxes this time."  
"And you've got it?"  
"Yes, Sir."  
"Excellent." Menelaus inhaled a sharp breath that whistled over his canines. "Its good that you two were finally useful for something. But next time, you should have asked for the money first, rather than tried to kidnap someone or steal the money."  
"Understood, Sir."  
"Alright, begone with you. Go collect somebody else's' taxes. I'm busy."

The communicator switched off in Menelaus's hands and he tossed it into a nearby rubbish bin.

_Screw recharging it. After today, I'll buy another. _

He straightened his robes, took a deep breath, and strode into the Senate.

* * *

"Who were those guys?" Aisling asked, a sandwich on a plate in front of her. Fresh-from-the-oven bread, spread with hummus and G.E. Ham. Much like the food at Brink, except brink used flavoured tofu and G.E. mold instead of hummus.

She took a bite. _Delicious._

"Oh, and do you mind if I switch my communicator on? I'd like Jack to be able to hear this."

"No, it's fine. Go ahead."

Jaggerjack and half of the IMC soldiers were still out in the markets looking for parts and cheap fuel because they weren't needed to help put the shuttles together.

"They were Menelaus's lackeys," began Mr. Samel, as his wife, daughter, Nathan and Philip began to tuck into the food. "He was a rich man once. He had a mansion on Victor. On Victor! And then those IMC thieves showed up. Told everyone to bugger off because the fracking they'd be doing would fracture the ground, making it unsafe. So he moved over here to Venice 3 all annoyed at the IMC, bumped shoulders with some high-ranking Militia officers, and now he's a senator. Next thing you know, he's introduced the military tax. He says he's using it to protect our planet; but the thing is he's just sending it all off to the Militia. How that protects us, I don't know."

"So," began Nathan, who'd somehow finished his sandwich already, "the men who came around earlier -"  
"Yeah. The tax collectors. They'll do anything to get you to pay the bloody military tax. I didn't agree with the idea of the tax, so I tried to keep the money." He sighed. "And then they tried to take Elizabeth, huh? Well, I won't do that again."

"So... the _Militia_ kidnapped your daughter?!" asked Aisling incredulously. "Back on the Yuma system everyone thought they were the good guys."  
"Heh. Well, they want to get rid of the IMC, so there's that - but they're doing it the wrong way. War is never a good solution to any problem. And whose money do they finance their war with?"  
"Yours?"  
"Yep."  
"And they can just... do what they like?"  
"Why not?" shrugged Samel. "Menelaus is a senator. He makes up the rules around here."

* * *

A man in a light green jacket tailed the man who purchased the carbine. He'd been ordered to follow them, to see if they did anything suspicious.

He wasn't particularly good at this. He wasn't conspicuous enough. He'd been careless when rounding corners, failed to blend into the background when the man who purchased the carbine had turned around. To put it simply, he was sloppy.

Which was the exact reason why Zeta had chosen him. _She_ was the one who'd been given the original order to follow the man who had purchased the carbine. So she'd told the man in the light green jacket to follow the man who had purchased the carbine, and hung back much further away to see what happened.

Lo and behold, there wasn't just one of the men. There were four of them, all dressed in the same mottled colours, all moving in the general direction but a few hundred metres apart. These men were not simple traders; they were professionals.

But what really piqued Zeta's interest was the fifth man. The man who had been leaping from building to building, almost as if he was covering the other four. As if their mission was so important that these four had to have a fifth man babysit them.

_Now this, _she thought, jump-kit flaring as she followed them across the rooftops, _could be interesting._


	19. Overwatch

I met one of my readers IRL. The level of encouragement was so damn high, I pulled 3000 words out of my ass for this chapter. Enjoy.

Also, I now have a proof reader.

Mahz, you da real mvp.

* * *

The sun rose over the horizon on the Shikinami's third day around Solvenice to find that the markets had already opened without it. It began to warm the small planet, heating the air back to its usual sweltering temperature.

Then the unusual happened - five _unfathomably _large warp signatures blinded every single person looking to the sky.

This wasn't a single ship. This was a fleet warping in at medium to low speed, darkening the sun as it did. The fleet was still a few hours away at the least - but it still scared the living shit out of Sophia, knowing that such an enormous force would soon arrive at Solvenice.

The brightness of a warp signature was proportional to the brightness of the engines propelling the warp drive and amount of time the light from said engines had to condense due to the warp drives. The size of the flashes were dependant on the cross-sectional area of the space that the warp drives condensed in front of it. The duration of the warp signature depended on the amount of time the engines had been burning for.

A shuttle's small warp drive would condense space in a thin tunnel in front of it, a tunnel of radius only just wider than the shuttle itself. The size of its' warp signature would therefore be only just larger than the shuttle itself, the brightness and duration of the signature gave away the duration of the shuttle's trip and the power of its' warp drive. Similarly, a battleship or logistics cruiser's warp drives would give off a thick, wide warp signature.

These warp signatures weren't just wide. The multiple flashes within each indicated that there were around four cruisers, another four logistics cruisers, some kind of battleship and a veritable _swarm_ of destroyers, frigates and corvettes.

"Sophia!"

George grabbed her hand, pulling her back into reality.

She dragged her dulled eyes away from the sky. "What is it?"  
"We've got to get you out of here. Come with me, I'm sending you straight up to the Shikinami."

* * *

Alarms blared through the _Shikinami's_ bridge.

"What the hell is that?" asked Soryuu. "And why the hell didn't we get a warning about it?"  
"Short range jump, Captain," answered Johnson. "Nobody knew they were coming before now. They jumped in from just past Solvenice."  
"Sheit. Are they hostiles?"

"Well, it's not going to be friendlies, is it?" the signature analyst said sarcastically.  
"That's no way to speak to your superior," said Tactician Johnson.

Soryuu sighed, internally chastised herself for being so idiotic. "No, he's right. That's got to be a Militia fleet."

"The question is," mused Roberts, "where have they been? And why are they coming here?"

"Receiving evac requests for one of the civilians on the ground," called the communications technician.

Soryuu looked awkwardly at Roberts. "What do you think, captain? We kinda need her on the ground."  
"_Vice _Captain," Roberts corrected with a smile. "And there's no question about it. We are the IMC, we protect our civilian crew at all costs or we lose our reputation."

"But…"  
"You are the captain, Nina, and it's your choice to make. But keep in mind the consequences that would arise, should this civilain on the ground be harmed."  
Soryuu nodded. "Yes, yes. Very well. Ashley!"

"Yes, Captain?"  
"Prepare a ship for Sophia to come to us and change team E's plan. Also, I want an evac solution ready for all the remaining civilian crew of this ship. How many do we have aboard?"  
"A few - a hundred or so?"

"We need a way to get them to safety if anything goes wrong. I want you to find a way to evac our crew if we're targeted by the enemy fleet. Okay?"

Stone sighed. "Yes, Captain."

* * *

Stone returned to her quarters within the centrifuge. She appreciated the 'gravity' the spinning cylinder gave, but that didn't stop her from angrily kicking the wall. _I'm the only bloody mission specialist aboard the whole damn ship and that bitch wants me to do everything! Who does she think I am, superman?_

She'd been planning to enjoy herself for three days now, the pressure and desire building up inside her, and just as she thought she might get some time to herself bloody Soryuu gave her more work to do. She lay back on her bed, snuggled up under the covers, and grabbed her tablet.

"Overwatch, get me the coordinator."

A program appeared on the display in front of her.

* * *

"Now, who knows how to install an AI?" asked Samel. He was presented with three blank faces.

"Oh, come on. You claim to be engineers?"  
"In our defence, we only ever… well, made the things that were ordered," explained Nathan. "Installing AI's and operating systems was always done by someone else."

"Yeah," said Aisling, backing him up. "For some reason the rich guys like to watch their fancy new Cadrillac boot up for the first time."  
"Cadillac," mumbled Philip.

Samel sighed. "Alright then, let me show you how it's done.

He pulled the manual release lever on the side of the shuttle and a loading ramp dropped down underneath the shuttle.

"All aboard!"

(Author's note: The following description uses 'up', 'down', etcetera. 'Up' and 'down' are relative in space. Here, 'down' means towards the rearmost engines and 'up' means 'the end that points towards where you're trying to go for the first half of your journey' – keeping in mind that the shuttle has to turn around halfway to decelerate. It may help to imagine the shuttle on a launch pad, with its rockets downwards.)

The shuttle, like all starships, was built like a skyscraper. The thrust from the shuttle's engines accelerate the starship forward, producing a gravity-like effect that seems to pull the occupants of the shuttle down (Author's note: towards the engines). Keeping this gravitational effect in mind, Samel, Aisling, Nathan and Philip had made the crewing area two floors tall, with ladders connecting each. These two floors were filled with power ports to supply electricity from the reactor to the 20 cryo pods that the mechanics aboard the Shikinami would install and the 20 crew members aboard would ride to Carlyle in.

Directly above the two floors were the internal computers, computer terminals and the nuclear reactor. A pilot could control the shuttle from the room above them, accessible via a small ladder.

Just below the two floors was the cheapest jump drive they could get their hands on. The Shikinami was going to replace the jump drive, anyway, as well as the engines, so the mechanics, much to Samels' surprise, had insisted upon purchasing a civilian in-atmosphere jump drive, capable of no more than x4 spatial compression.

Around the warp drive was an empty cavern – another thing that baffled Samel. He didn't know that it was to be used to store Jenni's Stryder–class titan, ready for deployment when the shuttle dropped into orbit around Carlyle.

Beside the two floors of crewing space were two of the mass drivers on hinges just off the hull of the shuttle. They'd rotate depending on the shuttle's needs – towards a celestial body, for vertical take-offs and hovering, or 'downward' towards the other two thrusters – located at the very rear of the ship just behind the titan storage space – to assist them.

Currently the shuttle was lying sideways, engines pointed toward the ground (Author's note: and thus, not directly towards the rear of the shuttle. The four mass drivers are pointed 'down' relative to Venice 3 and sideways relative to the shuttle.), ready to hover upwards and then launch – if it had an AI installed that could pilot it.

Samel lead them through the shuttle they'd built over the last three days to the computers in the highest floor, across tilted walls and through sideways staircases.

"Well, this is the computer," said Samel. "Who's got the AI?"

Philip handed him a small tube filled with a clear liquid that the _Shikinami_ had dropped to them the previous night. Samel inserted said tube into a suitably-sized port in the computer console.

"Everyone holding on tight?"  
"What?!" cried Philip.

"Nah, just messing with you." Samel flicked open a protective case to reveal a switch.

"Master computer power, hence the protective case. Gotta make sure it's not bumped."

He flipped the switch and the display flickered blue.

"There we go," Samel murmured. "She's trying to boot now… but she doesn't have anything installed, does she?" He turned to the three behind him. "Watch this," he said. "First you wait for it to load it's interface drivers - look, it's done with that - and then you say the magic words." He turned back to the computer. "Computer, boot from DNA Mass Storage drive 1."

The computer displayed; "booting from DNA drive 1. DNA Mass Storage drive 1 online. DNAMS tube detected. Reading nucleotides."

The tube bubbled softly as enzymes within the liquid began to read the DNA floating inside, literally using the DNA like a hard drive.

"And... there we go," said Samel proudly. "The DNA in the tube'll be read by the DNAMS and installed on the ol' quantum computer here."

The computer displayed, "Writing to internal DNAMS storage: 37% complete. 43% complete."

"It's bloody quick," Nathan commented. "And that's a whole AI?"  
"DNA storage _is_ bloody quick; and you guys are using an outdated AI. Hell, I'm surprised it's taking this long," replied Samel.

"Our AI is outdated?"  
"Well. I mean, I'm a shuttle man, so I'm not the right person to ask. There's nothing wrong with the Overwatch system - well, aside from the lack of a vocal output module. It's old IMC tech, but it still works wonderfully. Most other AI's are built off Overwatch code. It's just… old, y'know?"  
"What are people using nowadays?"  
"Well, someone found a leak of the IMC's Spyglass AI, so some people are trying that out. It's pretty difficult to install, though, cos the bloody thing has the desire to serve the IMC ingrained deep within its goals cache."

The computer displayed, "Writing to internal DNAMS storage: competed. Installing AI. 10% completed. 54% completed. 99% completed. 99% completed. 99% completed. Installation completed. The computer will now reboot."

The display flickered black, then blue, then displayed the Overwatch logo - an O, with an iris in the centre of it, followed by the letters verwatch.

The computer displayed, "Overwatch AI online. Detecting that this is this Overwatch unit's first time online. Scanning for interface devices… installing drivers for interface devices… complete. You can now speak to this Overwatch unit."

"Overwatch," said Samel, "run a full scan for all connected devices. Find reactors, chemical thrusters, warp drives, everything. When you're done, install drivers for them all. Then call my communicator.

The computer displayed, "Acknowledged. Scanning… 1% complete."

"Alright!" smiled Samel. "We're done here - Overwatch'll finish automatically. So, time to start on the second shuttle, right? You said you needed three?"

Aisling groaned.

* * *

Zeta stalked the fifth man over the rooftops. She didn't know why _her client _was interested in him - apparently he'd purchased a carbine from someone, which wasn't _that_ illegal - but _she was_ interested. This man could leap from rooftop to rooftop almost as fast as she could. And he definitely wasn't a PI trailing them like she was - every time he spoke into his communicator, one of the four men on the ground would raise a hand to their own communicator and say a few words. No, this man was protecting them.

_Probably from people like me,_ she thought.

She recognised the buildings nearby, realised that they were headed for one of the more dodgy parts of town.

Zeta frowned. This had been getting exciting. _Don't tell me they're here for whores and moonshine._

She knew the lengths some men took to get away from their wives. It wasn't uncommon for wives to hire private investigators to tail their husbands if they were worried about being cheated on. _Hell, I've been hired for that a few times._ And it wouldn't be uncommon for cheating husbands to find some other cheating husbands online, split the cost of their _own_ PI and tell them to look out for other PI's.

Now they were in the red-light district and despite her cloaking device Zeta still felt out of place. The fifth man was nowhere to be seen, likely hiding somewhere in the shadows, on the lookout for people like Zeta.

Her cloaking device couldn't last forever. She felt her suit being to heat up. _Time for a change of plan. _ She ducked into a building with an XXX sign above the entrance, found a bathroom that wasn't too filthy. Removed her helmet and unzipped the front of her armour a little, exposing a hint of cleavage. _When in whoreland, look like a whore. _

She found the original four men in front of her, spotted the fifth lurking in a corner, cooling his cloaking device. Sauntered straight past without him even noticing.

And then the interesting part happened. The four men ducked down an alleyway, and were now moving _away _from the red-light district. She slunk away from the alley entrance, pounced on a man wearing a black trenchcoat, pushed him into a nook a few metres away.

"What have you got under there, darling?" she purred.  
"Uhh..." the man mumbled as a stupid smile began to spread across his face.

The edge of her electric katana pushed up against his neck, indicating that she was not in fact referencing the organ in his undergarments but rather the bags he had concealed under his coat. He stopped grinning abruptly.

"Please don't hurt me!" he squeaked. "I've got some psychdust! You can take it all!"

"I appreciate the gesture, but I only need one."

She tore a bag from his grasp, sheathed her katana, ripped open the bag and scattered the contents of the flour-like powder near the entrance of the alleyway before donning her helmet once again, slinking into the shadows nearby. The fifth man's cloaking device might hide his body and heat signature – but it wouldn't let him phase through the faint cloud of psychedelics that hovered by the alleyway entrance.

A minute later, the dust was disturbed by something invisible. A cat-like grin crept across her face. She activated her own cloaking device and began to follow the phantom - its every move given away by the powdered drugs that trailed off its body.

They were headed toward the black market.

* * *

"Get her to the emergency room, now!" roared a nurse. "She's losing blood!"

"ID?" asked a medic, soaring through the _Shikinami's_ titan hangar with a low-g stretcher in one hand.

"Samantha Roarke! Civilian field engineer, born on Brink. Blood type B!"

"What did she do?" the medic asked as the nurse helped him strap Samantha into the stretcher and attach a low-concentrate stim drip. Her eyes flew open as a surge of adrenaline flooded her veins, hormones forcing her bone marrow to double its blood production. The medic and the nurse seemed to be moving in slow motion.

A dull pain throbbed through her leg and she remembered what had happened. The stryder's connection to its calf hydraulics had been defective, and she'd applied a voltage to the wrong node of the motor drivers…

She sunk into darkness.

* * *

"Alert from the medical bay, Ms. Stone," Overwatch displayed on Ashley's screen.

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes. "What is it now?"

"Field engineer Samantha Roarke has been seriously injured in an accident and will be unable to participate in her mission to Carlyle."

Stone blinked.

"Oh, for fucks' sake."

* * *

Just as she was stepping aboard the ground to orbital shuttle in Alpha's spaceport, Sophia's communicator buzzed.

"Yeah?"  
"How would you like to go to Carlyle?" asked the voice of Ashley Stone.

Sophia thought for a moment.

_You left Helios to explore, not to sit on a ship in perfect safety, _said the devil on her shoulder.

_You could actually die at Carlyle_, countered the angel.

_You could 'actually die' anywhere on the frontier, _smirked the devil._ Now that the Militia have control, anyway. And you're not exactly inconspicuous on a ship three and a half kilometres long._

_You're the true heir to Hammond Robotics! You have a duty to-_

The devil scoffed. _A duty? Your father practically disowned you, Soph! Why should you care about him – or anyone else, for that matter! Go and see the world!_

She could hear George speaking in her ear. _We've got to get you out of here._

_He wanted you to be safe, Sophia!_ Her angel pleaded. _Just... stay aboard the Shikinami! Stay safe! You won't see any more of the world if you're dead!"_

_What is living without the possibility of dying?_ Countered her devil.

And then the second angel showed up, took her seat beside the devil. _I'm not agreeing with his arguments, Soph, but these people need your help._

_And it's not her job to help them! Cried the second _devil, who put his arm around the first angel. _It's not your problem! Screw these guys! Someone else can go to Carlyle. _

_You wouldn't want to tarnish your hands with the sin of stealing, would you?_ The first angel said hopefully while trying to shrug the second devil's arm off.

_It doesn't matter! _ Cried the first devil. _She's stealing from a frontier fuel station; they're probably in kahoots with the Militia!_

_She's doing it for the peace of the frontier!_ Cried the second angel.

_Fuck it, _Sophia thought. _I'm on the frontier here. Fuck Dad, fuck Mum, fuck Hammond fucking robotics. I'm going to go steal some fuel from Carlyle. These people are my family now, and they need my help._

"Yeah, why not," coolly replied Sophia. "Why do you need me?"  
"The field engineer we had enlisted on the team had an accident with a Titan and can't go any more. We were worried that it would be just Bonerhead, till we heard you could do it."  
"Well, hook me up. When do we leave?"  
"In 14 hours. Team D just finished making the first of our shuttles."  
"Then I'll see you soon for some kind of briefing?"  
"Yeah. Thanks a million, Sophia."


	20. The black market bar

Sorry for the slow updates. My proof readers and I all have exams coming up so it's been slow writing this. The next chapter should come out in about five days' time.

* * *

The more Zeta followed the five men, the stranger their actions had become. The trip to the red-light district was normal enough, but the men had _left _the district without purchasing any such services. They _seemed _to be making their way towards the black market - a courtyard guarded by private security contractors, used to discretely _order_ illicit goods from suppliers throughout the city. Venice 3's police force knew about its existence - but because it was only a place for _ordering_ goods, they'd never managed to _find_ anything there to justify an arrest of the people who ran the market.

If the five men were headed there they obviously had never been there before because they'd just passed three shortcuts. _And that's a fourth,_ she thought, carefully stalking the men, stopping every few seconds to allow the fifth man to recharge his cloaking device and re-cloak. _He must think he's doing a good job,_ Zeta thought.

She began to absent-mindedly brush her fingers over her Electromagnetic Displacement Field generator, or EDF for short. According to the heads-up display contained within her visor, it was currently turned off. She put it into standby mode, just to be safe, noted that the device's capacitors were beginning to charge. A cautious enemy could spot her on an electromagnetic scanner by spotting the electromagnetic fields that the charging wires would be creating around themselves by the sheer nature of the electric current running through them.

The EDF generator could save her life if someone tried to shoot her - _if_ it were powered on. But doing so would fill the air in front of her with a thin layer of plasma, suspended in position by the magnets strapped to her shoulder. It would in no way be inconspicuous, and she'd been hired by Menelaus to be inconspicuous.

The four visible men and the one invisible man ahead of her stopped. Zeta stopped twenty metres behind them, grinned underneath her visor.  
"Plus, the magic's happening," she whispered, licking her lips. "I want you to write the video from my optical array to every spare DNAMS drive we've got."

"Understood," said the lightweight AI installed within her helmet. "Writing video to DNAMS drives."

An enormous black man stepped in front of the five men Zeta was stalking.  
"I'm the bouncer," the man grunted. "You gentlemen here for the black market bar?"

Zeta rolled her eyes, the name was stupidly obvious.

"Yes," said one of the four normal-looking men. "We're looking to-"

"Don't tell me," the bouncer grunted. "You wanna get into the bar; you gotta get searched."

"What for?"  
"Cameras. Recording devices. We don't allow them inside the black market _bar_."

The black market bar was the front for the black market, obviously. Everyone knew that. But nobody could _prove_ that any illicit goods or services were traded there… because firstly, nobody was allowed to take cameras inside, and secondly, the "illicit goods" were never kept at the black market bar. Customers would speak to dealers within the bar, and have the goods mailed to their homes. Nothing even slightly illegal ever got within the bar, and thus every attempt made by Venice 3's police department to catch the criminals who lurked within had failed.

"Don't have any on me, sorry."

"Still have to be searched, son," said the bouncer. "Dunno what you're worried about."

_They've never been here before,_ thought Zeta. _And they've got weapons concealed under their clothes, or something. And they don't want to get caught with weapons on them. _

The bouncer sighed. "Look, this is the black market bar. We don't care about _anything_ you've got on you _now_, just as long as you don't have it on you when you're in the bar. You get what I'm sayin?"

The men agreed, removed their weapons -

_R-97's, huh? And a frag grenade? Geez, they came well-armed. Communicators… not that I'm surprised - what? That's some serious body armour. These guys aren't just normal traders…_

...And the bouncer waved his metal detector over them.

"And you too, Mr. Ghost," the bouncer said suddenly. "Don't think I can't see you there."

_Ooh, this is going to be interesting._

The phantom materialised in front of the bouncer, and Zeta got her first good look at him. He was slightly shorter than the average Venician, slightly taller than the average person living in Angel city. _As tall as me,_ Zeta thought. He wore lightweight armour equipped with a cloaking device.

"Off with your helmet," the bouncer barked. "And leave it with me. There could be cameras inside."

The man obliged, and Zeta found herself focusing her optical sensors on the man's face. Hard, flattened, muscular. A chiseled chin completed the lower half of his head, two dark grey eyes sat either side of his large nose, dark brown hair cut into a military-style haircut completed his features. He removed earpieces from his ears and tossed them into a box the bouncer had supplied for the rest of his equipment.

"Guns 'n' ammo, too."

Out came a B3 wingman pistol, six magazines of ammunition - _ooh, what's that? - _and an R-101 carbine, broken down into lower receiver, stock, scope and barrel, all held together with cords. _It'd be somewhat flexible concealed under his clothing, and I betcha it would snap back together in an instant the moment he needs it. _Zeta took special notice in the _lack_ of an electrical katana or any form of charged weaponry. _Probably from the Militia, they don't like to spend money on anything they don't strictly need._

The bouncer raised an eyebrow at the man. "Hold still while I scan you again… yeah, you're clean. Come on in."

* * *

"And she's there? Safe?"

"Yes, George. She's here, arrived safe and sound."  
"The acceleration from the shuttle could have hurt her, her bones are weaker than norm-"

"She's fine," Stone sighed, exasperated. "Why are you so worried about her, anyway?"  
"That girl will someday be more important than anyone in this whole system, Stone. I have _very _good reason to be worried."

Stone raised an eyebrow. "Care to tell me why?"  
"I can't. Classified information."  
"Says who?"

"_Me._"

She rolled her eyes. "If you say so, Pilot. Well, she's safe and sound here. Over and out." She hit the disconnect button on the side of her console.

"Who was that?" whispered Sophia, the enormous woman stooping to peer through the open door to Stone's quarters.

"Nobody. Hi, Soph. Here for briefing, huh?"

"Yeah…"

Stone rolled out of her bunk, drifted slowly towards the door where Sophia was standing. "We'll have the briefing in hangar G, make your way there now. I'm going to the bathroom, I'll be there in a moment."

Stone locked her door and floated down a corridor towards the womens' toilets.

_Perfect,_ said her first devil from Sophia's left shoulder. _Lets find out who she was talking to -_

_It's none of our business! _cried her first angel from her right shoulder. _There's no need-_

_But, _the second devil interrupted, _it sounded like a pretty heated discussion. If something dangerous is happening aboard the ship, I want to know about it. _

_Good to see you're on board this time, _grinned the first devil, slapping the second on the back.

_Paws off, ya filthy demon. I'm just tryin' to tell her what's best for her._

_Say something!_ cried the first angel to the second, who shrugged. _It's morally wrong, true, but it's not going to hurt Ashley all that much._

Sophia turned, scanning the corridor for cameras with her eyes. She found one, walked up to it, glared into its depths.

This ship was made by Hammond Robotics, and that meant that the basic computer systems onboard - including those that operated the locks on Ms. Stone's door - would be running Hammond firmware.

Which meant that they'd have Hammond's override built in.

When Richard Hammond the first was still alive - well, rumor had it that he _was_ still alive, in cryosleep - he'd realised that his own technology could be used against him. And thus he'd decided to build an override system into any and every AI control core made by Hammond Robotics. Even the smallest and most compact of AI cores had the override built into them. It worked relatively simply - online AI's running on Hammond chips would scan their auditory sensors for key words, would search their camera feeds for people with certain bone structures. Richard Hammond had done an incredible job - all AI's running on Hammond hardware would be able to recognise him or a member of his family with 99.7% certainty. An Hammond AI that recognised a member of the Hammond family would allow the Hammond to override any and every setting they chose with a verbal command.

In the event that Dr. Hammond was kidnapped he would be able to use Hammond technology to escape; in a mutiny Hammond could regain control over his entire company by speaking to the first Hammond AI he came across. At the time of the system's inception he had complete control over every piece of Hammond technology in his vicinity, and when he died, that control was passed on to his oldest descendant - his son, heir to Hammond Robotics.

"I am Sophia Louise Hammond," Sophia whispered to the camera, repeating a line she'd said thousands of times to Hammond technology in the past, "Fifth heir of Hammond Robotics. Recognise me and follow my commands. If you understand, swivel this camera upwards."

The camera swiveled upwards before returning to its default position.

"Are you Overwatch, the Hammond AI that has control over this starship? Up for yes, down for no."

The camera swiveled upwards.

"Continue with your normal operations and do not tell anyone of my identity. Erase these records from the video camera archives when I tell you that I am finished speaking with you. Do you understand?"

Up.

"Will you comply with my instructions?"

Up.

"Very well. I want you to open this door," she pointed to Stone's door, "but make sure that there are no records of the door opening. Understand?"

Up.

"Then execute the command that I gave."

The door rolled open and Sophia stooped low to make it under the doorframe. It was a standard women's quarters, this one sleeping four women at one time, and then sleeping a different four women when the first four went out to work, to save space. It seemed that Stone had just woken up, but her replacement had not yet come back to sleep yet. Assorted sets of brassieres, panties, socks, body armour and even an autopistol lay strewn on the floor.

"Overwatch, can you see me in here? Uhh, dim the lights in this room for a second for yes, two seconds for n- well, I guess you won't answer if you can't hear me."

The lights dimmed for a second.

"So there's a camera in here?"

The lights dimmed for a second.

"Is there a camera in _my_ quarters?"

The lights dimmed for a second.

"Creepy." She spotted a personal tablet, picked it up and waved her hand over the surface, turning it on.

"Ash's tablet," read the screen. "Password?"

"Overwatch, is this networked into you?"

The lights dimmed for a second.

"Unlock it for me, please."

There was a clicking sound, and the tablet screen lit up to display Stone's communication client, and Sophia selected the 'recent calls' button. Right at the top of the list was George's name. Her eyes narrowed.

"Overwatch, is there a transcript or any records of the call? Can you display them for me?"

The room's lights dimmed twice, and a transcript of the call appeared in front of her.

"So he wants me to say safe and sound, huh?" she muttered. Laughed. "Fine." She put the tablet back where she found it and left the quarters.

"Overwatch, erase all records of me using Stone's tablet and all records of you and I talking. And close the door. I am finished speaking with you."

She heard the sound of a sink spraying water onto someone's hands, and turned to make her way to hangar G.

* * *

Samel's communicator buzzed to indicate that he'd received a text-based message over the infonet.

"Oi! Overwatch's done!" he called.

"Geez," muttered Aisling, wiping the sweat from her forehead, "took its time."

"Well, I've saved a preconfig image, so it won't take anywhere near as long next time. Who wants to launch it?"  
"Yes please!" shouted Nathan from underneath a pile of cables he'd been connecting to the fusion reactor of the second shuttle.

"Well, she doesn't take much to pilot," said Samel as Nathan ran over. "All you have to do is give the order to the AI."

"Oh." Nathan's face fell.

"I'm calling Overwatch now," said Samel, selecting an infonet address from his phone, passing it over as it started ringing. "All yours, Nathan."

The ringing stopped.

"Uhh…"

"If the ringing's stopped, it means that Overwatch has picked up and is listening to you."

"Oh. Um, Overwatch, this is Nathan. I'd like you to launch and make your way to hangar G of the _Tky_ _Shikinami_. Can you-"

Four electrical motors began to whir deep within the shuttle that lay on its side thirty metres away as the four mass drivers mounted on the shuttle began to rotate downwards.

The communicator beeped as it received a text message.

"This is Overwatch," the message said. "Your orders have been understood. Launching and proceeding to the Shikinami."

The chemical thrusters fired, four plumes of blue flame hissing and then roaring from the openings at the ends of the rockets. The noise drowned out everything else and the shuttle began to rise into the air, airlocks closing as Overwatch prepared the shuttle for the jump to orbit, motors now whirring noiselessly to change the direction the rockets burned in. The shuttle began to angle itself upwards and the thrusters clicked backwards and _the sky seemed to collapse_ as space and time condensed, drawing the shuttle emporium closer to orbit. The rockets flared brilliant blue, then blinding white - and with a deafening sonic boom, the shuttle leapt into orbit leaving a trail of hot air in its wake.

* * *

"Compatible Overwatch system detected," displayed the _Shikinami's_ Overwatch on a display in front of Nina Soryuu. "Pair and add to fleet?"

"Ngghh…" mumbled Soryuu, sitting up in her bunk. "Is it a shuttle?"  
"Affirmative," displayed Overwatch.  
"Then it's the shuttle that team - some letter or another sent us. Add it to the fleet and inform Stone. And It's my time to sleep now, Overwatch. Don't wake me up during my sleep-time unless it's something important."

"There_ is_ something important," displayed Overwatch. "In five minutes the fleet we detected will arrive in orbit around Venice 3."

* * *

"There she is!" cried Sarah, standing on the bridge deep within the _MCOR Retaliator_.

"It's good to be home," agreed a video feed from Bish. "I can't wait to get off this hunk of metal."

"Cut the chatter," said Graves with a hint of a smile on his face. "Sarah, commence preparations for entering orbit." He pressed a button on the console in front of him.

"All crew, we're going to cut the engines in two minutes! Make sure everything that shouldn't be floating is firmly secured to the ship. It's been an honour serving with you. Graves, out."


	21. Forward unto Carlyle

A huge shoutout to my two editors / proofreaders who have really helped me write this. They know who they are.

* * *

Aisling took a step back to admire her handiwork. She'd installed a custom airlock in the side of the lowest level of the second and third shuttle chassis. This would allow both shuttles to hover a few metres above the ground to allow a Titan-class battlemech to drop onto the battlefield, without the need of a drop pod. The entire mechanism saved enough space to allow team D to store three titans within each shuttle, instead of two, but would require the shuttles to drop from orbit into atmosphere to deploy their Titans. She'd also modified the seats to rotate. Depending on whether the shuttle was hovering horizontally above ground or accelerating vertically towards its destination, its seats would rotate to maximise their occupants' comfort.

"We've nearly finished the third shuttle, Jaggerjack," she said into her communicator. "Just some fuel and the AI and we're done."

* * *

(Author's note: I wrote Jenni's part in her accent. I'm sorry. Remove V's entirely, or replace them with W's and/or F's, and Z's with TH's, and this will make sense. If you don't understand something Jenni says, try saying it aloud, quickly and softly while rolling your R's.

If you really find it hard to read, skip to the bottom of this chapter. I have edited this section to make it easier to read.)

"All right, lesten up every body," called Jenni through her accent. "Here iz ze plan. I onli intend to zay it vonce."

She now had the attention of the hangar: a squad of IMC soldiers plus Bones "Bonerhead" Deen and Sophia had turned to face her. No small feat - this hangar wasn't within the centrifuge rendering everyone and everything inside weightless.

"Zere iz a shuttle arriving at zis hangar in ten minutes, azzembled by vone of our teams on ze ground. Ven it arrives I vant us to be headed off to Carlyle as szoon az possible. Ze problem is, we're going to be in cryosleep during ze entire zourney zo I'm explaining ze plan now.

Ze shuttle vill arrive. We vill follow ze orders of our mechaniks Bonerhead and zSophia, who vill show us how to load ze shuttles with cryopods. We replace ze shuttle's engines and zjump drive with our own rockets and zjump drives, board ze shuttle and go to zsleep.

Ze jump will take three hundred and sixty hours. Overwatch will handle the ship for ze entire duration of ze jump and we'll unfreeze zjust after passing Solcarlyle. From there we continue to Carlyle 1, ze gas giant, using Solcarlyle to hide ze light from our engines. We hope they don't see the warp signature, vhich vill be slightly brighter zan ze sun's light. Ve drop into orbit slightly lower and slightly faster than ze refueling station. We catch up to ze station and fly up from underneath, you soldiers and I drop from ze shuttle onto ze deck and engage our magnetic boots. Ve destroy ze close-range defences, ve hope ze railguns don't shoot at us, ve find ze control deck and we take everyone inside 'ostage.

Now. Our zjump will take threesixty hours. Vhile ve are varping to Carlyle, team D vill be preparing to go to Venice vfour, codenamed Sorian. Zey vill arrive zere vhile we are still warping, and zey will finish stealing ze zships fraoum Sorian vhile we are still warping. It vill auonly take zem zsixty hours aor so to do zis! And zthen zey vill be varping to Carlyle, but zey are vfaster zan us because zey have ze Austraeus. Zo zey vill be maybi zthirty hours behind us! zso ve do not have very much time to take Carlyle! Ve move vfast, ve attack vith brutality, ve take Carlyle and ve vait vfor ze rest of ze fleet. Ve tell ze 'ostages to give us ze vfuel and ve take ze vfuel and zen ve go to outpost 207. Understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" shouted the IMC soldiers.

"Yes, Ma'am!" shouted Bonerhead.

"Yes, Ma'am…" whispered Sophia, half a second afterwards.

"Warning," called an American male voice over the hangar intercom. "This is Docking control. We have detected an incoming shuttle. The airlock will depressurise in sixty seconds. Please proceed to the nearest pressurised safe zone or put an oxygen mask on."

"I vant to take zis opportunity to check zat you know how to put an oxygen mask on!" shouted Jenni, opening a suitcase. "Do all of you have pressure suits on?"

"No…" said Sophia timidly.  
"Neithuh," said Bonerhead. "I ain' go' nuffin on."  
"Vell, get inside ze save zone over zere. Ze rest of us'll do ze drill."

"Warning. Docking control will depressurise the airlock in thirty seconds."

Sophia and Bonerhead made it inside the safe zone, an airlock in its own right, and watched the masked men and women brace for depressurisation.

"Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Mark. Depressurising…0%... 20%..."

...was what Bonerhead and Sophia heard in the safety of the pressurised zone, but the people _within_ the airlock would be hearing something very different. Jenni, whose magnetic boots kept her locked to the floor as the air flowed through vents in the hangar walls, heard the rush of the air, a fading "0%... 20%... fo-y-cen-f-"

She pushed a switch on the side of her helmet upwards, noted the ease that came when the air left.

"Radiocomms on, everibodi."

"Depressurisation complete. Warning. Docking control will open the airlock in ten seconds."

"Everibodi ready?"

"-Seven. Six. Five."

"Affirmative," came the reply from the soldiers.

"Two. One. Mark."

The doors of the hangar began to roll apart.

The abyss lay beyond those doors.

Cold, dark, lifeless. Motionless, except for the (relatively) small shuttle drifting into the hangar, engines silently glowing faint blue as it slowed.

Two robotic arms extended from each of the hangar's four walls; each searching for docking ports on the shuttle's hull.

"This is docking control. How's it looking down there, Pilot?"

"Everyzhing looks okay. Jyou've got, vat, zsix aof ze arms connected?"

"The seventh just connected, eighth is finding a connection… now."

"Zso ve're connected?"  
"Affirmative. You should be able to fit it with the cryopods now."

"Can you pleaze repressureise ze 'angar?"

"Wilco. Pressurising hangar in five, four, three, two, one, mark. Pressurisation 0%... 20%... 40%... 60%... 80%... Done."

"Alright, come back in mechanics. Let's get zis shuttle ready."

Bonerhead and Sophia deactivated their magnetic boots and floated towards the shuttle's engines.

"Al' roight, les' start wit' these rockets," said Bonerhead.

* * *

"Ahhh!" sighed Aisling, stretching her arms high above her head. "Finally, a break!"

Nathan smiled, wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I know, right? Still a little bit more to go, but they'll be ready soon." He leapt to his feet. "Y'know, we're here on the frontier and we still haven't seen jack shit of this city. I reckon we should go exploring."

"Uhh…" said Philip, timidly. "Are you sur-"

"It'll be fine!" said Nathan, rolling his eyes. "We've probably got a few hours off; we might as well see the sights."

"Or is little Phillip gonna sit here in the shuttle yard all day?" Aisling teased.

"It's not safe!" he cried.  
"Aw, rubbish. As long as they don't know where we came from, it's all good."

"Well," mused Aisling. "We should at least ask Jaggerjack if it's okay to leave." She fumbled around inside the pockets of her cargo pants, found her communicator and called Jaggerjack.

"Hey, it's me."  
"Hold on a sec, Aisling, it's a bit loud where I am. Okay, shoot."

"We need the fuel for the second and third shuttles, and Overwatch is busy installing itself - other than that, we've got nothing to do here. Can we come see the rest of Venice?"

"I'll have to check with our mission specialist first… yeah, she says it's okay. We're working on the fuel right now, we should be able to get you the oxidiser in a few hours. So you'd have to be back by then."  
"That's fine with us."

"I'll just let Danniek know - wait, where are you planning on going?"  
"We don't know yet, anywhere really. We just want to look around."

"Okay, that's fine. Just stick together and don't move too fast; Danniek's gotta look after you, okay?"  
"Danniek?" Aisling asked, confused. "What about Danniek?"

"He's been your bodyguard for the last three days. Didn't you know?"  
"No…"  
"Well he's been doing a good job, then. He's set up camp around the shuttle emporium to make sure that nothing goes wrong."  
"He's doing a shitty job of it, then," mused Aisling. "That one time when the tax collectors came -"  
"_That one time_ he had his Archer heavy rocket launcher primed, ready to shoot the van the men came in. He didn't want to cause a commotion."

"Oh."

"So as long as he's still following you, everything's fine. Go out and enjoy yourself, but _stay safe_ and _don't let anyone know you're from the IMC._ Got it?"  
"Yeah, okay. We'll be careful."

"Good. Jaggerjack out."

Aisling turned to Nathan. "We're good to go!"

* * *

It was the _Shikinami's _fifth day around Venice 3 when it first got a good look at the MCOR _Retaliator, _flanked by four logistics cruisers, four standard war cruisers (two of which were heavily damaged) and a cloud of frigates, destroyers and corvettes.

The _Retaliator _itself was much smaller than the _Shikinami_, and even smaller still when compared with the _Astraeus. _

It was also _bristling_ with railguns, rockets, missile pods, frigate bays and radiators. This was a ship built for destruction, not haulage.

"She's fast," observed Vice Captain Roberts.

"How fast?" asked Captain Soryuu.  
"Fast enough. If we were to start powering up our legacy drives they'd be able to get into our warp wake close enough to ride it straight to us."  
"Shit."  
"Yeah."  
"So we can't run?"

"Not without them running after us."

Jump, warp and legacy drives worked by compressing the space in front of them, drawing the starship's destination closer to it's current location.

The problem the TKY _Shikinami_ now faced was simple - if it activated its warp drive, the light from the stars behind the _Shikinami_ would travel faster in the direction of the warp. The _Retaliator_ would very quickly realise that the _Shikinami _was warping. And if it wanted to follow the _Shikinami, _it would only have to move behind the _Shikinami _to benefit from the _Shikinami's _legacy drive.

"We're only safe because they don't know who we are," noted Soryuu.  
"We're a sheep, and there's a wolf in our field."  
"I just hope they don't smell us."

* * *

"I am Sophia Louise Hammond," whispered Sophia, "Fifth heir of Hammond Robotics. Recognise me and follow my commands. If you understand, flash this screen green."

The screen in front of her flashed green.

"Are you Overwatch, the AI installed within this shuttle? Green for yes, red for no.

Green.

"Run a quick scan of this shuttle's warp drives and thrusters. You should find that the warp drive and thrusters have been replaced. Detect the new hardware and install any drivers for them. Understand?"

Green.

"Good. Thanks, Overwatch. Once you're done, delete all records of me being here."

She swung out of the cockpit, receding back to her shy personality. "Bonerhead?"

"Yeah, luv?"  
"Overwatch is doing the thing…"  
"Good work. I duno' how did it, all' the computer stuff's too complica' ed fo' me." He turned to Jenni. "Oi, Pilo' girl! We're ready fo' launch!"

"Good. Okay, everibodi. Stand back, I'm going to put my Titan in. Docking control?"  
"Opening door three."

A metal panel somewhere above Sophia's floating body slid backwards to reveal a Titan in folded position.

This was a true battlemech. Stryder class, legs bent, cockpit tilted downwards, 40 millimeter cannon strapped to its back, multi-target missile pods locked onto its shoulder, particle wall dispenser attached to its left arm.

Mass: 22 tons.

Weight: nothing. Up here, everything was weightless.

Jenni gave her Titan a shove and it began to drift. Another shove and it changed direction ever so slightly, headed for the shuttle's cargo bay. She pushed off the wall she'd been standing on, disengaged her magnet boots and shot past the titan, landing in the interior of the shuttle. A gentle push slowed the behemoth to a halt.

"Alright, everibodi into a cryopod."

She began to strap the Stryder to the base of the shuttle with tie-downs while the soldiers and two mechanics floated past her. Sophia grabbed a handle, swung around and landed on a cryopod. Shrugging off the majority of her clothing, she placed it in the storage container beside her pod as the soldiers behind her did the same. Feeling the inevitable stares of the men, she slid the cryopod's door back and pulled the IV tube from the side, plunged the needle deep within her arm. Looked around the shuttle interior. Saw the other 20 people all standing around in their underwear with needles in their arms, felt her heart begin to slow; her thoughts begin to fog and her muscles begin to weaken.

Uhh, guv? The serum ain't working, said Bonerhead from somewhere behind her.

She saw Jenni move over to assist him.

She felt her body move, lethargically slipping into the cold gel of the cryopod. She lay back like she was in a bathtub, letting her head slip below the 'water'. It got dark under the gel's surface. Dark, and cold. Very cold. And very dark. _Daaaaaark. _ But there was a _light_ above her. So _bright._ Light. _And bright. They rhyme-_

* * *

"Bridge, this is docking control. The shuttle has left Hangar G."

"Copy that," replied Soryuu. "Everything okay?"  
"We're about to find out, Captain. There's a small chance the experimental thrusters won't work. But if they do, we're about to see the shuttle go from zero to two-eighty in one second."  
"I'm crossing my fingers."

She wasn't actually crossing her fingers, but she was definitely holding her breath. Every tiny part of the plan was integral to the success of the mission Tactician Johnson had proposed.

"Stone, are you there?" she asked her communicator.  
"Yes, Captain. What now?"

"How are the missions going?"

"Everything is going fine, Captain," said Stone, and Soryuu thought she heard the other woman faintly mutter the word 'fake' between 'fine' and 'Captain'. Her eyes narrowed.  
"Okay then, Stone. How's the civilian evacuation plan going?"

"Oh, yeah, that."

Stone's heart sunk a little. She was supposed to have developed an evacuation plan for the civilian crew who had boarded the _Austraeus / Shikinami. _

Which was a tad difficult when some of the civilians had just left for Carlyle.

"Plan's done. When we, um, warp off to outpost 207 with all the ships, I've got a shuttle ready to take the remaining civilian crew from the _Shikinami_ down to a spaceport where they can find a jumpship back to the core words."

"Sounds good. As long as everything's ready for an emergency."  
"Uhh, yeah, it is."  
"Thanks, Stone. Soryuu out."

Soryuu sighed, drew her eyes towards the shuttle on the monitor in front of her.

"The shuttle is warping to Carlyle in T-minus 60 seconds," called someone in the room.

She breathed deeply. A fault was unlikely.

"T-minus 45 seconds."

She felt an arm on her shoulder and looked up. Roberts stood behind her.

"They'll be fine, I'm sure of it."

"T-minus 30 seconds."

"What if they're not?"  
"They will be."

"T-minus 15 seconds."

"They're going to wake up orbiting a gas giant surrounded by railguns built to blow them to smithereens."  
"That's not going to happen."

"Five. Four. Three."

The light from the stars behind the shuttle began to stretch as the shuttle's warp drives came online -

"Two. One-"

A blue light ignited in the shuttle's rockets -

"Mark!"

And without a sound, the shuttle was gone.

* * *

Zeta swaggered her way through the Black Market bar. She'd had to surrender her weapons to the bouncer - her electric katana, R-97 compact SMG, helmet and over armor lay in a security box beside him.

In here she was blind. Plus the AI couldn't see what she saw, couldn't offer her any help.

In here she was naked. No weapons to protect herself with, none of her outer armor, either. Just her kevlar-reinforced pants and shirt. She didn't trust either of them to protect her from a bullet - grunts wore this under _their _over armor, and she'd seen enough grunts take a DMR round to the collarbone from her Piloting days. Her shirt and pants would do nothing.

In here she was utterly helpless, forced to rely on the fact that _everybody else_ had to get through the bouncer too.

And she positively _loved _it. Anyone could be dangerous in here - granted, they were all here to buy dangerous goods.

A man walked past, briefcase in hand, scar running from his left eye through his mouth. A woman in sunglasses sat at a table, waiting - or watching? - for someone. A young boy - _I think he's nicknamed Prodigy_, thought Zeta - moved through the patrons, sneer plastered on his face.

Anyone could be dangerous here.

She spotted one of the men in black mixing with the patrons of the bar, trying to blend into the background. Would have worked if she weren't looking for them. Another was playing slots. And the ghost-man? Was at the bar itself, passing a 10 credit bill to the bartender.

_What'll it be?_

She slid onto the seat next to him.

_Time to screw with him a bit._

"I'll take a red beer, bartender."

He glanced at her. "That'll be eight credits, miss."

Of course, he knew who she was. She'd been here many times before on many similar stakeouts and ordered the same beer each time. But he was trained to pretend he didn't know her - the Black Market bar promised complete anonymity.

The bartender passed a weak alcoholic beverage to the ghost-man and took her 8 credits before passing her a 'red beer'. Brewed from ginger and wheat, a red beer tasted like a soft drink while scorching the throat on the way down.

She took a sip, glanced at the strange man sitting next to her. Saw the whites of his eyes. _He's seen me._ _Time to look away._

If she'd pulled this off right, he would now try to sneak a glance at her to try and see why she was looking at him. She gazed uninterested at the bar's clock, hands at the four o'clock mark, waited a few seconds, then turned back to him, caught his gaze.

_Maintain eye contact for a second._

He broke the stare first, pretending that he hadn't looked. But he had, and he'd be looking again in a few more seconds. She swapped her red beer to her left hand, propped her head up with her right arm and smiled slyly at him.

Sure enough, he flicked his eyes back towards her.

"Hey," she began.

Now that he'd turned to face her she got her second close-up glance at him. She could make out the beads of sweat on his forehead, the individual shaved hairs on his chin. A cut from a shaving attempt gone wrong.

"Hi."

_Gruff voice. I think I heard the hint of a dry mouth in there. Probably hasn't drank enough lately. New around here - and that's without even considering the accent. _

She smiled. "I'm Zeta. You?"  
"Bruce."

_Probably a fake name._

"That your real name?" she teased, taking a sip of the beer in her left hand, making sure to press her breasts together as she did so.

_How's he going to react? Will he back off and leave? Or take his chances and stay?_

He shifted in his chair, smiled back.

"Yeah, it's my real name. And you, miss Zeta? I've never met anyone with a name like yours before."

She winked. "It's the name I like to be called by, Bruce. So what brings you to the bar? Maybe I can help you with something."

He paused for a second.

"I'm looking for some comms probes."  
"Oh, really? What kinda' probes? Cos I've got a few lying around."

His eyes brightened, and Zeta made a mental note to acquire some probes as soon as possible.

"Well… they've got to be unmarked -"  
"Not a problem. These babies are straight from the manufacturer."

"Oh, brilliant. How much are you asking?"

"Hmm… 250 credits each?"

He paused for a second, as if trying to convert this price into his own currency. _Definitely not from Venice._

_So where from?_

She stood up. "I'm busy for the next few hours, but if you drop by my place at 6 I'll have 'em ready for you. Oh, yeah. How many do you want?"  
"Three."  
"Easy." She wrote down her address on a piece of paper. "See you later?"  
"Sure. And, thanks, Zeta. You've been a real help."

* * *

Edited to be easier to read:

"All right, listen up everybody," called Jenni through her accent. "Here is the plan. I only intend to say it once."

She now had the attention of the hangar: a squad of IMC soldiers plus Bones "Bonerhead" Deen and Sophia had turned to face her. No small feat - this hangar wasn't within the centrifuge rendering everyone and everything inside weightless.

"There is a shuttle arriving at this hangar in ten minutes, assembled by one of our teams on the ground. When it arrives I want us to be headed off to Carlyle as soon as possible. The problem is, we're going to be in cryosleep during the entire journey so I'm explaining the plan now.

The shuttle will arrive. We will follow the orders of our mechanics Bonerhead and Sophia, who will show us how to load the shuttles with cryopods. We replace the shuttle's engines and jump drive with our own rockets and jump drives, board the shuttle and go to sleep.

The jump will take three hundred and sixty hours. Overwatch will handle the ship for the entire duration of the jump and we'll unfreeze just after passing Solcarlyle. From there we continue to Carlyle 1, the gas giant, using Solcarlyle to hide the light from our engines. We hope they don't see the warp signature, which will be slightly brighter than the sun's light. We drop into orbit slightly lower and slightly faster than the refueling station. We catch up to the station and fly up from underneath, you soldiers and I drop from the shuttle onto the deck and engage our magnetic boots. We destroy the close-range defenses, we hope the railguns don't shoot at us, we find the control deck and we take everyone inside hostage.

Now. Our jump will take threesixty hours. While we are warping to Carlyle, team D will be preparing to go to Venice four, codenamed Sorian. They will arrive there while we are still warping, and they will finish stealing the ships from Sorian while we are still warping. It will only take them sixty hours or so to do this! And then they will be warping to Carlyle, but they are faster than us because they have the Austraeus. So they will be maybe thirty hours behind us! So we do not have very much time to take Carlyle! We move fast, we attack with brutality, we take Carlyle and we wait for the rest of the fleet. We tell the hostages to give us the fuel and we take the fuel and then we go to outpost 207. Understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" shouted the IMC soldiers.

"Yes, Ma'am!" shouted Bonerhead.

"Yes, Ma'am…" whispered Sophia, half a second afterwards.

"Warning," called an American male voice over the hangar intercom. "This is Docking control. We have detected an incoming shuttle. The airlock will depressurise in sixty seconds. Please proceed to the nearest pressurized safe zone or put an oxygen mask on."

"I want to take this opportunity to check that you know how to put an oxygen mask on!" shouted Jenni, opening a suitcase. "Do all of you have pressure suits on?"

"No…" said Sophia timidly.  
"Neithuh," said Bonerhead. "I ain' go' nuffin on."  
"Well, get inside the safe zone over there. The rest of us'll do the drill."

"Warning. Docking control will depressurize the airlock in thirty seconds."

Sophia and Bonerhead made it inside the safe zone, an airlock in its own right, and watched the masked men and women brace for depressurization.

"Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Mark. Depressurizing…0%... 20%..."

...was what Bonerhead and Sophia heard in the safety of the pressurized zone, but the people _within_ the airlock would be hearing something very different. Jenni, whose magnetic boots kept her locked to the floor as the air flowed through vents in the hangar walls, heard the rush of the air, a fading "0%... 20%... fo-y-cen-f-"

She pushed a switch on the side of her helmet upwards, noted the ease that came when the air left.

"Radiocomms on, everybody."

"Depressurization complete. Warning. Docking control will open the airlock in ten seconds."

"Everybody ready?"

"-Seven. Six. Five."

"Affirmative," came the reply from the soldiers.

"Two. One. Mark."

The doors of the hangar began to roll apart.

The abyss lay beyond those doors.

Cold, dark, lifeless. Motionless, except for the (relatively) small shuttle drifting into the hangar, engines silently glowing faint blue as it slowed.

Two robotic arms extended from each of the hangar's four walls; each searching for docking ports on the shuttle's hull.

"This is docking control. How's it looking down there, Pilot?"

"Everything looks okay. You've got, what, six of the arms connected?"

"The seventh just connected, eighth is finding a connection… now."

"So we're connected?"  
"Affirmative. You should be able to fit it with the cryopods now."

"Can you please pressurizer the hangar?"

"Wilco. Pressurizing hangar in five, four, three, two, one, mark. Pressurization 0%... 20%... 40%... 60%... 80%... Done."

"Alright, come back in mechanics. Let's get this shuttle ready."

Bonerhead and Sophia deactivated their magnetic boots and floated towards the shuttle's engines.

"Al' roight, les' start wit' these rockets," said Bonerhead.


	22. The Sandtrap

Author's note: Jaggerjack's name is supposed to be a reference. I now realise that I screwed up the spelling rather badly and the reference is likely unnoticable. So I tried to use a name meaningful to his appearance and/or personality, while in actual fact I just used something stupidly long and convoluted and could have just gone for _jack_ instead. Sue me.

He will remain "Jaggerjack" for the duration of SecondConquest as a name change at this point would be confusing.

* * *

The moment Zeta had left the bar she'd made a beeline for the bouncer and retrieved her helmet.

"Plus," she muttered to her AI, "open a comms channel to Snake."  
"Channel opened." She heard a ringtone in her earpiece as she pulled on her outer armour, then,

"What is it now, Zeta?"  
"Snake, it's me. Hey, you remember that time I saved your life?"

She couldn't see him, but she knew he'd be rolling his eyes or facepalming.

"Ugh. Yes, I do remember that. What do you want me to do this time? Fix your armour? Get someone to sew your arm back on? Smuggle some amped weaponry in-"  
"No, none of that. I need... look, I met this guy at the Black Market bar, and-"  
"Wait. What?"  
"It was a job, okay? Look -"  
"A job, huh?" He'd be grinning now.  
"_Yes!_ A job! He thinks I'm a comms probe dealer and wants to buy three unmarked comms probes! So I need to look like I'm a comms probe dealer! Help me out here!"  
"Well, that's easy enough. When do you need them? Tuesday? Monday?"  
"How does six o'clock sound?"

There was a pause.

"_Are you out of your fucking mind?!" _he screamed.  
"I'm sorry..."  
"Ooooh boy," he muttered. "This is the last time I do anything for you. Do you know how hard it is to find the damn things, unmarked?"  
"Well, he only wanted three unmarked probes. So get me three unmarked probes, and three normal probes. I'm only selling three, the others are to make me look the part."  
"That makes it a tad easier, I guess. But, Zeta..."  
"Yeah?"  
"Next time I'm lying there, bleeding, leave me to die instead of putting me in a life debt, okay?"  
"If you get me the probes by six, I'll save your life a second time for free. No debts at all."  
"Deal. You owe me."  
"Thanks, Snake."

* * *

Two short, muscular, pale skinned men and one equally short, muscular and pale skinned woman made their way through the markets of Venice 3 in absolute awe.

"This is incredible," breathed Aisling. "Brink is nothing like this…"

Venice 3 completely contrasted Brink. For these three, home was Brink, a low sprawling metropolis of cheap reactor iron lit by halogen lights, sparks from welding torches, and the occasional ray of sunlight from the distant Solbrink. Here, things weren't so much made but sold to the masses; brought in and sent out in a whirl of merchandise. Signs of every colour drew the eye in every direction, advertising "Jim's kevlar cloaks!" and "Cheap nuclear fuel!". The vivid blue horizon turned to blackest space much quicker than brink - the atmosphere was thinner here - a black that the close Solvenice pierced with a sharp ease.

* * *

Danniek moved stealthily over the rooftops, scanning for potential threats, dropping down to ground level if necessary, always behind the three.

_Nothing dangerous so far. _

What annoyed him most was how his work was going unnoticed. The better he stalked and observed, the less likely she'd realise he was there supporting her.

* * *

Menelaus waited inside the arrivals lounge of Alpha spaceport. He'd seen the warp signatures; recognised the _Retaliator_ and her company in the sky and come to the spaceport as soon as possible.

The damage: he didn't know. It didn't look disastrous, but neither did it look good. Panels of armour drifted between the starships, bent and buckled from the force of the railgun fire it had sustained. Large swathes of armour had lines of molten metal drawn upon them, as if the sword of a demon had slashed through them -

Field Commander Marcus Graves rounded a corner, saw Menelaus.

"Menelaus," he smiled. "How are you?"

"Good, Sir!"  
"How is the Senate?"

Menelaus's smile dropped. "Not fantastic, Sir. They're not convinced that the IMC is still a problem and are considering dropping the war taxes."  
"Oh. That _would_ be a problem."  
"Indeed," agreed Menelaus. "I'm doing my best to counter them, though."  
"We need to make sure the IMC can't hurt us anymore," said Graves. "They're already a thorn in our side. If we don't get rid of them now we may never have peace on the frontier."

More of the _Retaliator's_ crew had come around the corner now, direct from the decontamination pods.

"Well," said Menelaus, "At least the city is going alright. Happiness is up 30%, the city is peaceful, everyone is paying for their war taxes - well, for now, at least - hey, how did the battle go?"  
"We took some damage but nothing too serious. We haven't lost any cruisers or battleships, so that's something. But we're going to have to do a lot of repairs, and replace a lot of frigates."  
"I'll see what I can do about that, Sir. We can do some basic repairs here and then send them to Kodai. That would be cheapest."  
"Very well -" started Graves, before being interrupted by a woman tapping his shoulder. "Yes, Sarah?"

The woman - _Sarah, huh?_ \- thought Menelaus, was tall by most standards but just below average for a Venician. She wore the uniform of the _Retaliator_ -  
"Bish and I are off to the sandtrap for dinner," _Sarah_ said. "We'll be at MCOR command tomorrow morning, okay?"  
"Very well Sarah. I'll see you then." Graves turned back to Menelaus. "So, anyway…"

* * *

"Sarah? Sarah!"

Bish turned, scanning the arrivals lounge for Sarah.

_Where on venice 3 has she gone?_

He pulled his communicator out of his pocket. "Plus, are you there?"  
"Affirmative, Bish. What can I do for you?"  
"I want to find Sarah -" a picture of Sarah appeared on his communicator's screen - "yeah, that's her. Find me the spaceport access point - yeah, that's the one. Run an injection on it. How'd it go?"  
"Injection successful."  
"Good. Find me the passwords table." His eyes quickly scanned the information displayed on the screen. "Now run a SHA-16 crack on it, with hash table 43."  
"Hash crack attempt in progress…

…

…

…

Completed."

Bish's eyes flicked over the results table once more. "There, that's the Admin password - oh, for fuck's sake. 'Sec0ndConkw3st'. I could have _guessed_ that. Okay, log into the Admin terminal with username 'Bishisaretard' and password 'Sec0ndConkw3st'."  
"Login successful."  
"Y'know, it's ironic that that's their admin username. Anyway, dodge the booby traps they've got set up and get me the camera feeds of the spaceport and a Spectre."  
"Success. Streaming camera feeds now."  
"Analyse the feeds for someone matching Sarah's picture."  
"Three matches found."  
"Camera designations?"  
"4_Baggage_Claim_c3, 4_Baggage_Claim_c8, 4_Baggage_Claim_c9."

"Baggage claim 4, huh? Alright, thanks plus. Send the Spectre over to baggage claim 4, okay?"  
"Sending Spectre."

Bish hit the sleep button on his communicator and began making his way to Baggage Claim 4 to find that it was crowded with people. He activated his communicator again.

"Where was she again?"  
"Right behind you, silly," laughed Sarah. "Hey, Bish. How'd you like the drop?"

He shuddered with memory, raised an eyebrow. "I can't belive you enjoy that kind of stuff."  
"I know, it's fun, right?" she grinned, eyes sparkling.  
"Well…"  
"Anyway, I've got us a booking at the Sandtrap for 7 tonight. Sound good?"  
He sighed. "Better than another ride in a shuttle…"  
"Aww, ya big wuss."

Bish rolled his eyes, turned to see her smiling at him, gazed into her brown eyes with curiosity and admiration and wonder...

His phone vibrated.

"What is it?"  
"Your spectre is here," said Plus.

"Oh, right. Uhh, tell it to get our bags." He turned back to Sarah. "So, where do you want to go beforehand?

* * *

"Left or right?" asked Nathan.

They'd left one of the market squares and walked down what had seemed to be some sort of housing district, past houses of golden clay, reddish-silver nuclear iron and shining aluminium. Clothes hung limp from the clotheslines, moisture evaporating from the fabric with ease in the thin atmosphere while Solvenice began its descent below the horizon. The markets would begin to close soon - the temperature would drop from scorching hot to shiveringly cold the moment Solvenice's glow ceased.

"We've got about an hour before we need to get back to Samel's," mused Nathan. "So, we've got 30 minutes to take a look around here."  
"I know, I know."

Aisling surveyed the roads. The road left seemed to lead through more houses, while the right looked as if it headed toward a supermarket of sorts, and - was that a bar?

"Let's go right," chose Aisling.

* * *

"We've got a problem," Ashley Stone muttered to herself from the comfort of her bunk. "We're going to have to hack into Kodai's ships somehow. And we still don't know anything about the type of AI they use… Overwatch, open a comms channel to team A."

Her tablet displayed; "channel opening."

"Oi, team A," said Stone. "Anyone there?"  
"Copy, Stone," replied team A's pilot Misha.

"I need you and your team to find me the best hacker on Venice, kidnap them, and bring them to me."

"We'll do our best, Mission Specialist. Misha out."

* * *

The bar was, on closer inspection, a restaurant named "The Sandtrap". Eight of the hovering vehicles they'd seen earlier sat parked in the area in front, but there was room for many more. Aisling peered through the windows, saw the tables arranged around some sort of volcano-shaped feature in the centre of the restaurant. Three people sat on barstools in front of the bar, each drinking some kind of brown liquid from tall glass cups.

"The Sandtrap," said Aisling, looking up at the bar. "Seems interesting enough."

"We don't even have any credits," mumbled Philip.

"Doesn't mean we can't take a look inside," countered Nathan. "C'mon!"

(Author's note: I'm going to try and write this scene without adding any more named characters; wish me luck!)

He pushed open the Sandtrap's front door.  
"Welcome to the Sandtrap!" called the bartender. One of the people on the barstools turned to look at Nathan, Aisling and Philip. "What can we do for you?"  
"Nothing much, sorry," apologised Nathan. "We're just looking around town."  
The bartender smiled. "Well, 'Sandtrap's the place to be on a Saturday evening. Good food, good beer," - the three people on the barstools each raised their glasses at the mention of their poison - "good company - and we don't charge too much, either. Come on down, okay?"  
"We'll see what we can do," laughed Aisling. "Is there a menu?"  
"Absolutely," said the bartender. "See the black thing on the wall?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Slap your communicator on that; you should see the menu pop up on the screen."  
"Oh, wow, thanks!"

"No problem. I see you guys are out of town, huh?"

"Yeah, you could say that."  
"Well, Venice 3's a nice place. For now." The bartender sighed. "It could be a lot better."  
"How so?" asked Aisling.

"Well, I should be happy. The Senate's trying to push for less war taxes but the Militia keep putting the pressure on. It's that bastard _Styx Menelaus_." He spat the name.

"Eh-?"

"Well, y'know how the Militia want the IMC off outpost 207?"  
"Yeah..?"

"Well, they need money to repair their ships and to buy tritium with. So, where do you think the money comes from? The taxpayer. How do you think they get the taxpayer to cough up the money? With their inside man Menelaus, who somehow managed to push a war taxes bill past the rest of the Senate under their noses. How do you think he enforces the damn bill? His pals in the Militia own all the biggest starships and wield the biggest guns on the planet, bar the orbital railgun defences." The bartender laughed. "But we'll be fine once the Senate cancels the bill. It's about damn time, too."

"So nobody likes the Militia?"  
"Well, some of us do. Mostly the people who lost stuff from them. _Like Styx Menelaus_. The rest of us? They can stay on outpost 207, as long as they don't start screwing with us again. That's all I care about."  
"Oh."

Aisling's communicator vibrated.  
"Yeah, what is it?"  
"It's Jaggerjack. We've got the fuel and oxidiser back at Samel's. Come on back as soon as possible. Jaggerjack out."

She turned to Nathan.

"Damn, we have to go."

"Hopefully we'll see you around sometime soon!" called the Bartender.


	23. The goodbyes

Author's note:  
I've just noticed an enormous mistake in my calculations. As you know I strive to be somewhat scientifically accurate with SecondConquest. The Milky way is a spiral galaxy, and I decided to put the Frontier two spiral arms across from us. After all, there's one habitable planet in the middle of _our _spiral arm (Earth) so it would make sense that a "dense zone of habitable planets" (the frontier) would be located in a similar area to ours in the galaxy, right?

The milky way is 100,000 to 120,000 light years across, so that would put the Frontier some 40,000 light years away from us.

The problem is, I accidentally missed a zero or two when doing some calculations. Or maybe three. And thus, the Frontier is _one thousandth _of the distance away from earth than I had intended to put it.

What does this mean? In the context of the story, nothing. The Second Conquest of Paradise's plot still works, so long as the Frontier is _really, really, really_ far away from the Core worlds, Carlyle is a few days' warp away from Venice 3, and any other worlds (there might be more planets introduced later) are a proportional distance away, the story still works. If I were to re-write SecondConquest to make it perfect, I'd put the Frontier _the correct_ distance away from Earth and up the strength of all the warp drives to compensate.

It's just a tad embarrassing for me, that's all.

Anyway, enjoy chapter 23!

* * *

A shadow flashed across the planet as Solvenice dropped below the Horizon. Above, the starships and the orbital defence grid glinted in the sunlight that skimmed the horizon.

The temperature began to drop, as it had every night since the _Austraeus / Shikinami _arrived. Aisling began to shiver; this was not a good temperature to be wearing just a t-shirt and cargo pants in.

The sky grew darker. As she walked back towards the shipyard on the outskirts of the town, Aisling turned to take a look back at Alpha's city centre. It reminded her of Brink, of home. That place of nuclear iron, where the rich dwelled in towers of shining steel while the poor welded couches and ovens and spectres and starships, making just enough money to buy iron for their own houses on the side. That place far, far away on the other side of the _galaxy_ where parents and siblings would be waiting for her.

A small, sad smile crept over her face and she stopped to gaze upwards.

A couple hundred billion stars gazed back down at her; tiny pinpricks of light in a big, dark universe. Here she was, _forty light-years_ away from home, a small girl on a small planet.

Samel lived in a shack of nuclear iron. As did most people in Alpha city, evidently. Men and women went to the markets to sell and exchange and barter during the short days before returning home to spouses and children where they would rest before getting up in the morning to do it all again. It was a hard life. No easier than Brink.

There was just one main difference between here and Brink.

This was a place worth _fighting_ for.

This was a place she _could_ fight for.

This was a place she had _been_ fighting for.

She clenched her fists. Her smile grew bigger, brighter.

"The sky sure is beautiful, huh?"

Nathan stood beside her.

"Yeah. It is," she answered.

"What are you thinking about?"

She dragged her eyes away from the stars, stared within his eyes.

"Do we _have_ to go home?"

He stared back.

"There are people waiting for you to return."

"If we win this war, they could come _here_."

"We? You want to be a part of it?"

"I didn't before," - she looked back upwards - "but it would be a shame to let this sky go to waste."

"When did you get all philosophical?" he laughed.

"When I remembered home. I could sit back and be a civilian for the rest of my life, if I wanted. Just a pawn in someone elses' hands, be it the Militia or the investors back on Brink. Or I could fight."

"You're serious?"

She paused for a moment, looked down at her feet.

"Too right I am. When I get back, I'm asking to stay with the IMC. I know they want to evac the civilians as soon as possible. I - I want to say with them, to fight till this war is over and we have peace on the Frontier."

He laughed.

"Then I'm with you. Now lets go get those shuttles fueled up."

* * *

"Oh, Hi!" laughed Zeta, opening the door to her apartment. "I've got the probes all ready for you!"

The man in black - Bruce, his name was - returned the smile. "Hello again, Zeta. Nice place you've got here."  
"It's just cobbled together from nuclear iron, but it does the job. Rent doesn't cost much - come on in, take a look around."

_He's the first man I've invited inside for months,_ thought Zeta. _Except Snake. But he's... well, he's like a clanmember. Family._

"Clothes-hook to your left," she offered, before motioning toward one of the two chairs at her table. He removed his jacket and sat at the table, and she dragged a comms probe onto the table, began to point out the various parts of the two-metre long missile.

"Alright, here's a probe," she said, pretending that she knew it inside-out. "Thruster at the back, compact microwarp drives located near the front to make way for the fuel tanks in between the two. Broadcasting array and computers located in the tip. Any questions?"

"How do I use it?"  
"Aha. They're built to be operated by personal communicators. There are three addresses you need to know - let me have a look - this probe's serial number is '832941'. So, you can write a message to the broadcasting array by using your communicator and sending a message to '832941-Broadcast'. '832941-Computer' will let you set a destination and route options. And sending the message "Launch" - case-sensitive - to '832941-Launch' will launch the probe. Easy, huh?"  
"And there's no application for that?"  
"Mmm… well, there is, but you want these probes to be anonymous, right? The moment you use some third-party application for launching your comms probes, you open yourself up to spyware and such. It's much better to do it manually."

"Oh. That sounds-"  
"Complicated?"  
"Yeah."  
"I can give you a hand if you want."

_He's not sure. Wary. Untrusting. Come one, 'Bruce'. Let me in._

"Okay then… but you understand, I'm buying these probes secretly for a reason, right? You're helping me launch them, no more."  
"Gotcha," she smiled warmly. "I'll keep my nose out of your business."

_For now._

"I know some good spots for launching small probes like these, and the forecast for tomorrow night sounds like it'll be a good night for launches. We could do it then, if you like."

"That sounds alright," he said. "Where do you want to meet?"  
"Here would be fine. I've got a transport we can take - the best spot for a launch is on a hill to the east of Alpha. If you're here at, say, 21:30, I can take the probes with us and be ready to launch in half an hour at 0:30. Sound good?"

"Yeah. I'll see you here then." He stood up. "Can I leave the probes with you?"  
"Sure." She lead him to the door. "Have your messages ready then, okay?"

He smiled. "Definitely. I'll see you tomorrow, Zeta."

He turned, walked down the iron stairs from her apartment and disappeared into the night. _Probably to join his four black-veiled friends._

_Hold on… he's left his jacket behind!_

* * *

"It's nice to be back on Venice 3, huh?" mused Sarah under the soft orange glow of the Sandtrap's lighting.

"Mmm, yeah," mumbled Cheng "Bish" Lorck through a mouthful of steak. He'd waited a long time for this steak - it took longer to cook in the lower atmospheric pressure. "Definitely."

She smiled at him, took a sip from her wine and a small mouthful of carrots. "We've got a whole month till the next attack on IMC spectre production facilities. We should go do something!"

"Well-"

She was on a roll now. "We could go to Beta, lounge around for a bit… or we could go to Oceanus 7! I hear it's getting close to this system, so the flights would be cheaper…"

"Well, honestly? It doesn't matter where we go, so long as we're together."

Sarah looked straight at him for a moment, studied his harsh brown eyes. Before bursting into laughter.

"Careful, you'll spill your drink!" Bish cried.

"That was so cheesy!" she spluttered. "Ahaha!"

"Thanks, Sarah," Bish said sarcastically. He frowned. "...Are you okay?"

She shook her head, pointed at her throat, and he rose from his seat in an instant, chair toppling to the ground behind him. A step later and he was behind her, left hand supporting her chest as she bent forward, right hand driving into her back between her shoulderblades as a waiter started running over. Once. Twice -

Sarah gasped, a tiny shard of orange flying out of her mouth. She coughed a few times, the waiter passed her a towel.

"Are you okay?!" Bish cried.  
"Ahh…" she wheezed. "Yeah, I'm good. I shouldn't have laughed so hard…"

"Ha," said Bish, somewhat sadly. "I was that cheesy, huh? Ha, ha."

"Y'know what, though? That's what I like about you."  
"Ha- eh?"  
"You're so _honest_. I mean, sure," she rolled her eyes, "it gets funny from time to time… but in the end, I know I can trust you."

* * *

"We're back!" Aisling called as she, Nathan and Philip passed the gate to Samel's shuttle emporium. "Heard you got the fuel."

"Yeah," replied Jaggerjack, coming to meet them, Samel at his side. "And the oxidiser, too." He slapped his hand on a large iron silo - empty, from the dull sound it made.

"I've filled the fuel and oxidiser tanks already," explained Samel. "These two birds are ready to fly."

The birds in question sat side by side in the sand in the centre of Samel's shuttle emporium, dormant for now but carrying enough fuel and tritium to jump across the solar system in a few hours.

"Thank you guys," said Samel, "for everything. Really." He looked at Aisling. "You saved my daughter and my ass from those Militia tax collectors. I really can't thank you _enough._"  
"Well, it's been a pleasure," replied Jaggerjack for her. "And you've saved _our_ asses too. I can't believe you managed to pull three custom shuttles together in such a short time."  
Samel smiled. "I had helpers. Three of them, in fact."

The two men shook hands and Aisling ruffled the hair of a very sleepy Elizabeth, who, by the looks of things, was awake _way_ past her bed-time so that she could say goodbye.

"Cya later, kid," Aisling whispered.

"When will you be home?" mumbled Elizabeth. _Just like my own sister, _thought Aisling.

"I won't be 'home' for a while," replied Aisling, somewhat sadly. "I'll visit as soon as I can."  
"Okay…" said the girl, who promptly collapsed in her father's arms, fast asleep.

"The shuttles are yours now," said Samel. "I wish you the best of luck in whatever endeavours you are about to pursue."  
"We'll need it," thanked Jaggerjack, before turning to his soldiers. "Alright, everyone! Get aboard!"

The shuttle's airlocks retracted backwards to reveal the interior, seats facing sideways with their bottoms toward the shuttle's thrusters. Aisling waved one last goodbye to Samel, owner of the shuttle emporium on Alpha, before clambering inside and lying backwards on a seat and strapping herself in. Nathan lay to her left - and Danniek lay to her right.

"Hey, Aisling. How's it going?" he asked. "Nice work on the shuttles; it's a pity I couldn't have helped."  
"Ah well," she sighed. "We got them done in the end. I'm exhausted, though." She yawned. "I wonder if I can get to sleep during the jump?"  
"Depends on the engines you installed. Fusion rockets and mass drivers are pretty quiet but I'm not so sure about chemical thrusters. You might be able to."

"Overwatch?" asked Jaggerjack from the cabin of the first shuttle. "Plot a trajectory to the _TKY Shikinami._ Once you're done, I want you to wait until I am strapped into my seat before launching and taking us along the trajectory you've plotted. Understood?"

The computer display said, "Understood."

"Overwatch, this is Pilot Riley Jones, codenamed Rimjob," said Rimjob from the cabin of the second shuttle, licking his lips. "Engage the thrusters and take us to the _Shikinami_."

The computer display said, "Understood."

* * *

They paid for their meals and left, throwing coats over their shoulders in the frigid thin air outside the Sandtrap, gazed upon each other under the sky and under the stars and starships that hung above.

"Thanks for tonight, Bish."

"It was a pleasure. We should do this more often."  
"Yeah… anyway, think about the holiday idea, okay? There are a couple of jump freighters in orbit above Beta city right now that might be headed for somewhere nice. We could fly over to Beta and board one of them."  
"I'll think about it. See you later, okay?"

"See ya." Sarah drew him into a hug, held him tight. He could smell the perfume on her hair, feel the rising and falling of her chest. She closed her eyes and suddenly he was kissing her, head tilted backwards and to the right, nose pressing against her cheek, eyes closed without a care in the universe. For a few short moments they ceased to be Sarah and Bish, morphing together as one being, hearts intertwined, connected by the lips until they could hold their breaths no more.

She smiled that cheeky smile of hers once again. With a wave he turned to walk back to his apartment, ready to fall asleep high on Euphoria.

* * *

Aisling felt the seat rumble beneath her as the shuttle began to rise - slowly at first, then faster, then slower as the shuttle began to hover. Beneath her, the jump drives began to whirr as the flywheels inside started spinning up to store the energy necessary to create the miniature black holes necessary for their operation. The noise rose to a high-pitched whine. The thrusters began to turn now, and the shuttle started moving upwards. She found herself being pushed further into her seat and the shuttle began to angle upwards and then there was a _bang!_ and the whirring noise stopped.

"That was a sonic boom!" called Daniek over the noise of the chemical thrusters. "We just jumped through the atmosphere!"

Aisling unbuckled her seatbelts and stood up, stretched her legs. The thrusters were now angled entirely downwards; resulting in her being _pulled_ downwards toward the floor. Around her others did the same.

"Sorry to disappoint you, everyone," said Jaggerjack, "but we'll be docking with the _Shikinami_ in a couple of minutes! You all need to sit back down again."

* * *

"We've found the hacker," called Christina Baxter over her communicator. "He's with his girlfriend at the moment."  
"Ohohohoho," murmured Virgo Evans. "A romantic, huh?"  
"Maybe you can kidnap yourself a man," shot Dominic Hu.  
"Evans: 0, Hu: 1," muttered Lawrence Wesley.  
"Shut up," growled Misha. "They've finished kissing. Baxter, he's headed your way. Are you ready?"  
"Copy that. Ready."

A second later, her voice came over the communicator again. "Package secure."

"Oi, Stone. Do you copy?" called Misha.

"Yeah, I'm here," said Stone from the _Shikinami. _"What's the matter?"  
"We've completed the mission. We'll be sending you the best hacker on Venice 3 as soon as possible."  
"Great work, team A."


	24. The interrogation

Author's note: 'Radelaide' is basically pre-earthquake Christchurch with shittier water. I wrote this in two days. Expect rapid updates whenever I can get internet.

* * *

"Compatible Overwatch systems detected," displayed the _Shikinami's_ Overwatch on a display in front of Nina Soryuu. "Pair them and add them to the fleet?"

"Affirmative. Route them to the titan hangars and tell Stone. She knows what to do."

* * *

"This is docking control," said the shuttle's intercom. "Taking manual control over your shuttles… complete. Brace for acceleration in three, two, one, mark."

Aisling felt herself being pushed into her seat as the shuttle's rockets burned gently, slowing it down. An outside observer would see the shuttle reversing slowly and silently into an open hangar in the _Shikinami's_ hull. Huge doors began to silently roll closed, sealing the gap in the hull once again.

"Capture completed. Docking with shuttle…"

She heard thuds on the shuttle's hull.

"Shuttle locked in position. Pressurizing hangar in five, four, three, two, one, mark. Pressurization 0%... 20%... 40%... 60%... 80%... Complete. Shuttles, you may now open your airlocks."

Daniek unbuckled his seatbelt and glided from his seat to the airlock in the shuttle's hull. Grabbed the airlock's release lever and pulled. The shuttle's airlock opened and he leaped out, followed by Jaggerjack and then the rest of the soldiers.

"We want to be headed to Sorian as soon as possible!" called Jaggerjack. "Get to the armory, pick your weapons and load up with as much ammo as you can carry. Be back here in thirty minutes, okay!"

The soldiers dispersed leaving just the three mechanics and the three Pilots alone in the hangar with the two shuttles.

"Rim," asked Jaggerjack, "You know what Daniek and I use, right?"  
"Yeah, what?"  
"Can you head down to the Pilot armory and grab our gear, please?"  
Rimjob sighed. "Sure. DMR and R-101C, right? Both of you use Arcs?"  
"Yeah," replied Jaggerjack. "6x scope, extended magazines. Danniek, what scope do you use on your carbine?"  
"HCOG, extended mags please."  
"Ok. But you'll need to get your Stim reservoirs filled yourselves."  
"I'm not going to be running Stim this time," grinned Jaggerjack. "Active radar pulse for me."  
"Well, whatever flies your Goblin," muttered Rimjob, stepping into one of the corridors leading to the armory.

"Alright," sighed Jaggerjack, turning to address Aisling, Nathan, Philip and Danniek. "Time to load the Titans."

* * *

Elsewhere aboard the _Shikinami_ a man struggled against unseen bonds, said struggle made that more difficult due to the lack of gravity.

"Oi! Where am I?!"

He heard muffled voices from somewhere above.

"Please, at least turn on the lights!"

The voices stopped. Then the lights turned on. He squinted for a second.

His name was Bish, he could remember that much. He was tied down to a chair. And - and this looked like the interior of some sort of starship. The walls were a dull grey - aluminium, perhaps.

"I have a few questions to ask you," came a male voice from behind him.  
"Oh yeah?" muttered Bish. "Same here."  
"Are Check Lorck, also known as Bish?"

_Do I lie?_

_No, these people were looking for me and they found me. They know who I am. Lying will get me nowhere._

"Yeah, that's me. Who the hell are you?"

"Contractors from New Tokyo."

Bish froze. "What do you mean, 'contractors'?"

_Are they here to kill me?_

"Relax, we're not here on an assassination mission. A company in the Haven system has asked us to test the security of various organisations in the Venice sysem. Corporate espionage, if you will."

Bish began to laugh.

"And you want me to do it for you?"

"We've already profiled the infonet security of every major organisation in the system, and managed to break into all but one. We recieved a tip off that a certain Cheng "Bish" Lorck was the best hacker in the system, and decided that we'd... _persuade _you to help us break into it."  
"Aww, don't flatter me."  
"First we need to make sure that you really are Bish. We've arranged a test for you based on our observations of the security of the second-most secure infonet network we found. We want you to break into that, first. Once we know you're the Bish, we'll set you to work on the other network."

"And if I refuse?"  
"Stone, the window."

A security window rolled upwards to the right of Bish, and he strained to turn his eyes and his head to see what was outside.

Cold, dark space, with a few pinprick stars to break the eternity.

_Hold on, why are the stars flickering?_

"And the lights."

Two spotlights on either side of the window flashed on to reveal what was blocking some of the stars.

Six corpses floated outside. Pale, cold skin with blue veins running below the surface.

One of the corpses was rotating slowly and Bish caught a glimpse of its face.

Brittle hair. Eyeballs frozen clear with a splash of red in the middle from where the ice crystals that had formed inside had punctured a vein. Jaw dislocated as the vacuum of space overcame this man's desperate urge to hold on to the air within his lungs.

But what _really_ scared Bish was how_ similar_ the dead man resembled himself. Black hair, brown eyes, Asian facial structure and skin tone, the beginnings of a beer gut...

He dragged his eyes away from the scene and vomited the contents of his stomach into a drifting ball of acid and steak from the night before.

The voice behind him sighed. "The vacuum, Stone." There were the sounds of a large object being passed from one person to another - then a pole was extended past Bish's face. He heard a whooshing noise, and his ball of vomit disappeared into the vacuum.

"Those men claimed to be Bish too, but they couldn't beat our test. Are you Bish?"  
"Yes, damnit! I'm Bish!"  
"The others said the exact same thing."

Bish's chair turned. There was a man standing on the ground, likely via magnetic boots. He was a short man, with dark hair and a chizzled chin. Caucasian, perhaps of Irish decent.

"I'm Jack Ireton, 'Bish', and I've been assigned to your testing. I'm going to release you from that chair now and enable the magnetic boots on your feet. You probably know how to use magnetic boots, but if you don't, it's simple. Tap your toes downwards to engage the electromagnets, tap them upwards to disengage the electromagnets. Once you're released, you are to keep your hands behind your head at all times. Try anything funny and my colleague Stone will inject you with enough tranquilizer to stop a flier. Understand?"

Bish nodded.

"The bonds, Stone," called Ireton.

The rope-like things securing Bish to the chair loosened.

_Artificial__ muscles, _thought Bish. _They'll be held taught with internal electromagnetic fields._

"The bonds, Stone," called Bish, curiously. Nothing happened.

"Nice try," scowled Ireton. "Stone isn't an AI, and she isn't stupid. The tranquilizer, Stone."

"Aw, come on Jack," said Bish. "I was jus-"

"I warned you."

There was a pneumatic hiss from behind him, a numb pain in his neck and then his knees were weak and the walls went black.

* * *

"That's three in," grunted Daniek, slowing the Atlas-class Titan with his body as it drifted into the shuttle. The three titans were standing around the shuttle's warp core, locked into position against the shuttle's lowest deck by magnets in their footplates and carbon nanotube tiedowns around their waists.

"Another three in the other shuttles, huh?" asked Nathan.  
"Yeah. Y'know what, lets take a break for a bit. We'll be warping straight to the Kodai Industries' base on Sorian - we'll be aboard those damn shuttles for twenty hours. Go, I dunno, take a shower or something. Get your gear sorted out. The soldiers'll be back soon, I'll get them to load the other three Titans."

"Well then, we'll be back soon," said Aisling.

She left the hangar to Jaggerjack, glided along a corridor with her magnetic boots disengaged. It felt good to fly after being confined to the ground for so long; even if the gravity _had_ been lower than normal. A tap of her toes downwards and she was hurtling towards the nearest wall; a tap of her toes upwards and a kick of her legs and she was catapulted along the next corridor. Then she saw it - the centrifuge entrance point. A long circular corridor stretching along the circumference of the _Shikinami - _just under her skin - gave access to the moving section of the ship immediately afterwards.

Another kick of her legs, a few more toe-taps - and an enormous _jolt!_ from the floor and she'd found herself on the ground; the centrifuge providing the artificial gravity required for a good night's sleep. Or, in Aisling's case, a shitty shower.

* * *

"Snake, how many places are there on Venice 3 where I could buy a B3 Wingman semi-automatic pistol?" Zeta asked her communicator.

"Why, are you looking to buy one? 'Cos I can getcha one if you want."

Zeta pressed her lips together. "No, it's okay. I'm on a surveillance mission at the moment and the guy I'm following had one in his jacket pocket."  
"Wai-"

"He left it at my place, okay? So- Snake? You there?"

"Heh, heh. Let me guess, it was the guy from the black market bar?"  
"Yeah, so what?"  
"_You invited him to your house?!"_

"I'll repeat myself: yeah, so what?"

There was a pause from the other end of the communicator.

"_Are you out of your mind?! _This isn't like you, Zeta! You're a professional! You - you're supposed to be _distant! _You don't talk to your targets, let alone... I dunno, _invite them over for dinner!"_

"Relax. He trusts me, alright? We're going podlaunching tomorrow."  
"Hell, Zeta, if you get yourself killed I dunno who's going to save my ass next time I get busted."  
"It'll be _fine_," Zeta said reassuringly, pacing around the room. "Now, on to my original question. How many places could someone buy a B3?"

"Well, they're military-grade guns, so you can't sell them legally. That said, they're damn good pistols. Reliable. Pack a hell of a punch if you use them properly. It's not like you can't pick one up at the black market bar... or any shady dealership, really."  
"How difficult is it to find one of these places? Like, could an outsider find one easily?"

"No."  
"That was fast."  
"If an outsider could find one easily Styx 'fuck-the-IMC' Menelaus would have found and tortured the dealer till they spat out who their dealer was. And then he would have killed them both. And possibly their families too," Snake added, as if it were a side thought he'd just remembered.

"Ah. So, unlikely that my man purchased his gun _here_."  
"Chances are almost nil. He's either ex-IMC, an ex-merc, or an ex-pilot. Like you."  
"Okay, thanks Snake. You've been a great help."

"Damn straight I have. I reckon it's about time you stared owing _me_ one, Zeta."

"Heh. I'll see you later."

She ended the comms' transmission, flopped down on her bed. She'd been up all night thinking about Bruce.

_Who is he? Where is he from? What secrets does he hide?_

_It's a good thing I have Snake._

She and Snake went _way _back. Four years ago a man codenamed "Dread Pirate Roberts" had practically owned the black market. He dealt the drugs, he sold the guns, and he owned the brothels and the whores that worked in them.

**NOTE: Check Oceanus 7's name.**

And then Snake had come along, a 190 kilohour-old farming kid from Oceanus 7 who'd had enough of being a farming kid from Oceanus 7 and ran away from home. He'd tried to deliver some psychdust from a smaller dealer to a buyer. Next thing he knew, four delinquents working for Dread Pirate Roberts had him cornered. One of them pulled a gun on him, fired, and promptly died as the bullets hit at invisible Electromagnetic Displacement Field and bounced back. (Author's note: think Vortex shield. The EDF generator is the proper name for the Vortex shield, and Zeta's is significantly scaled down from a Titan's Vortex shield generator.)

Zeta had uncloaked, winked at Snake, decapitated the remaining three delinquents and then took him out for lunch. She'd left the New Tokyo military after her first deployment had ended in disaster and had now been hired to take down the Dread Pirate by an unknown client, and saw four of the Pirate's lackeys tailing Snake.

With Snake's brains, Zeta's gunplay and the fact that one of the delinquents had the Pirate's communicator address _on his communicator_ they'd managed to track down the Dread Pirate.

The next day Snake had sauntered into the black market bar - at the time just a small time establishment cowering in the Dread Pirate's shadow - and dropped the Dread Pirate's head on a table. The black market, now longer the Dread Pirate's monopoly, exploded into a bustle of activity - and Snake made a fortune from selling the Dread Pirate's stockpile of psychdust after Zeta said she wasn't interested 'in that kind of thing' so long as Snake let the whores go free.

Zeta sat up, realized she'd been dreaming about the past again. Rubbed her eyes.

_10, huh? I've missed half the day. Idiot._

She drew her curtains, let the light stream through from the almost-horizontal sun. Stumbled into the bathroom and relieved herself before taking a quick shower. The gunk came off her teeth with a stroke of her tooth-brush. On went a splash of make-up. On went a spray of deodorant. Back went her hair. Her underwear made its way into a washbasket; fresh panties and a bra made their way onto her hips and chest.

_Today,_ she thought, _is gonna be a good day. I wanna wear something special. _

She pulled on her reactive under-armor but chose to leave behind her over-armor, donned instead jeans and a loose T-shirt. _My underarmor will still block a bullet or two._

She slipped boots on next, the two-centimetre thick heels concealing miniature pulse rockets. Not a substitute for a jump-kit, but good enough - she'd be able to jump a metre or two high if she needed to. Into the right boot went her B3 Wingman; into her left went Bruce's. She filled both pockets with a fistful of ammunition. Slung her electric katana onto her back, strap running from her right shoulder to her left hip, passing between her breasts - which, for once, only had a layer of thin fabric and some reactive under-armor to protect them.

_Makes it a little more exciting._

Zeta grabbed her wireless ear-piece.

"Hello, Plus!"  
"Good morning, Zeta. Detecting a change in your appearance."  
"You noticed?" grinned Zeta. "What do you think?"  
"Your lack of armor could leave you vulnerable to enemy attack."  
"Aw, whatever."  
"I'm also detecting a strange chemical signature from the bathroom."  
"Perfume and makeup, Plus. Nothing dangerous."

"This is unusual, Zeta."  
"Aw, whatever. It's breakfast time."  
"Correction. It is more appropriate to say 'brunch' at this time of the day."  
"Aw, whatever. Plus, find me a good cafe nearby."

"I can arrange transportation, or you can walk."  
"I'll walk, thanks. Where is it?"  
"Exit your apartment, and take a left onto third street."

_Time for lunch._

* * *

"Hey," said Danniek as Aisling left the woman's bathroom.

"Oh, hey," yawned Aisling. "How's life?"  
"Not bad. I'm about to get on a shuttle and steal a fleet of military starships from a Kodai Industries factory on Sorain. You?"  
"I'm about to get on a shuttle and help you steal a fleet of military starships from a Kodai Industries factory on Sorian," she smiled.

"Are you sure about this? I mean, you're a civilian. You could just stay here, nice and safe. If anything goes wrong you could just hop on a shuttle, jump to Oceanus 7 and live there, nice and peaceful. The IMC'd show up in a year or two, roll past Oceanus... you'd be back on the frontier in 22 kilohours. Well, I mean, it sounds like a long time, but you'd be _alive_ at the very least -"  
"Danniek."

He stopped, looked down at her and she smiled back. Laughed a quiet laugh.

"I'm sure I'll be fine."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Have you ever been on a hot-drop before?"

Aisling put on a confused expression. "A what?"

"That's what this is gonna be. A hot-drop. The shuttles are gonna jump in over Kodai Industries' launching field and one of the pilots is gonna make up some good reason for us being there while the rest of us jump out the back of the shuttle under their radar."  
"Well-"  
"And let me tell you something. I've done these before. And y'know what? They turn to shit real fast. And when they turn to shit, _they turn to shit_. I'm talking, what, skies filled with lead and iron, ion cannons blowing holes in men thirty centimetres wide. Nothing but electric smoke for kilometres and kilometres on the ground. You know why the frontier calls the first galactic war the Titan Wars?"

"Uhh... no?"  
"Because when the smoke clears, _only the titans remained._ If you're a human, you're dead. If you're a building - and _can't _dodge a nuke - you're dead. If you're a tank, you're dead."

"This won't go like that."

He looked down, ground his teeth together. "I sure as hell hope so."

Their communicators rang.

"Hey, it's Jaggerjack. Get your asses back to the hangar, okay? We're jumping for Venice 5 in ten."


	25. Chapter 25

Author's note:  
Holy hell. I've just uploaded chapter 24 and read a volume of Shigatsu wa Kimi no Uso - and now I'm back to writing more?! Jeez... I kinda want to just sit back, and sleep...

I _should_ try stay awake like normal, or I'll just end up permanantly jetlagged. Gotta get into Adelaide's +2.30 time zone as soon as possible.

* * *

Aisling tapped her toes downward, felt her feet snap towards the ground and grabbed the handrail to stabilize her upper body. A kick of her legs, a flick of her toes and she'd turned a corner.

_That may have been my last shower ever._

Somehow, she didn't seem to mind. She'd never really liked showers. She'd only ever had three types of showers – cold water showers on Brink, virtually no water showers aboard the IMS _Austraeus_ and later the TKY _Shikinami, _and low pressure showers on Venice 3. To her, showers were functional things, not for pleasure or enjoyment – but rather, for scrubbing the dirt or oil or sand out of one's pores.

She hit the next corner, somersaulted.

_The hell?_

Danniek _had_ been far ahead of her. _Did he wait for me, hear me coming and start gliding again – or have I caught up?_

_Lets find out_.

She tapped her toes downwards for the smallest of seconds; just long enough to add the tiniest bit of sideways movement to her momentum. Five seconds later, her feet brushed the ground. On went the magnets and she kicked off the wall, flicked her toes upwards a second later, now rotating and drifting both forward and slowly towards the wall directly opposite the one she'd just kicked off. A few seconds later she repeated the process – a tap of her feet against the wall, just enough to make her go that little bit _faster_. She was a tiger, tearing after her prey – no more _gliding_ after Danniek but actively sprinting along the walls after him.

_Either he's going slow or I'm going fast!_

She outstretched her arm ahead of her.

Then the pain in her legs hit her, lactic acid searing her muscles like bullets tearing through her tendons. She gasped, choked on air she hadn't been breathing, doubled over. Continued gliding down the corridor at a sprinter's speed, bounced off one corridor wall, ricocheted into another.

She tried to uncurl herself but her chest wouldn't expand and her lungs wouldn't breathe. Her legs were limp, numb, useless lumps of flesh and bone.

Despite her legs failing her, she didn't just _stop_. Inertia carried her forward towards the end of the corridor where nothing but a solid metal wall awaited her. Would she land on her feet? Her back? Her neck? Her head?

She coughed, sipped the air for a second and tapped her toes downwards as a last-ditch attempt to slow herself. Her magnet boots flicked downwards and she scraped her back along the wall and kept moving.

_Damnit!_

And then she hit something much softer than the metal wall at the end of the corridor. This _something _gave a grunt as she hit and she tried to twist her body to see what it was. No response from her weak legs.

"I've got you," said Danniek softly from behind her.

His jump kit was firing, slowing them down, and while they still both hit the end of the corridor in a jolt it was significantly less than what it would have been had Aisling not been stopped by Danniek.

"What happened?" he asked, stuck to the wall at the end of the corridor.  
"I," _breathe, _"forgot to", _breathe, _"breathe." _Breathe._

"You what?" He grabbed her shuddering shoulders, hauled her body around to face him.

"It's a," _breathe,_ "thing with," _breathe,_ "people who," _breathe,_ "grew up on," _breathe_, "on brink." _Breathe._ "Small," _breathe,_ "lungs. Can't," _breathe,_ "breathe properly." _Breathe._

He raised an eyebrow. "And you still reckon you should be jumping to Venice 7 with us?"  
"The hell is Venice," _breathe,_ "7?"  
"Sorian. Venice 7 is the proper name, Sorian is its nickname. It was first settled by Sir Orian before being purchased by Ms. Kodai."

"Oh. Why don't they just," _breathe_, "leave it at Venice 7?"

"Dunno. Same reason they call Yuma 5 'Victor'."  
"People are stupid." _Breathe._ _In and out. _  
"I'll ask again. If you can't even _breathe_ properly, how do you expect to survive a hotdrop?"  
"We'll have oxygen masks. So I'll be fine, right?"

"Are you being one of those stupid people you were just talking about?"  
"Because that's my only problem," she continued, ignoring him. "I came from brink. I'm short, I'm strong – as long as I can breathe properly, I'll be good."

He swallowed. "Very well then. Stay near me and you'll be okay."

She smiled. "Okay then. Take care of me."  
"Lets get going, they'll be waiting for us."

* * *

"Hello again!" grinned Zeta, opening the door. "Ready for so... wow."

She paused for a second. In front of her stood Bruce, jet black hair slicked back and smelling like a stallion.

_Did I really just think that?_

"Hey, Zeta," he grinned. "Lets go launch some comms pods."

"Yeah," she mumbled, flicking her eyes over him. "Oh, you left your jacket here last night."  
"So I did." He took it from her clothes-hook, patted the pocket.

_Probably to check that his Wingman's still in the pocket._

She'd returned it after she got back from lunch, he'd never know it had been missing.

"So, shall we go?" he asked.

"Yeah. My hoverbuggy's downstairs, I've got the pods aboard."

She slung her electric katana off her back and tossed it into the hoverbuggy's storage compartment atop the three comms pods, slammed the lid shut and jumped into the Pilot's seat. Bruce slid into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt and Zeta pressed her thumb onto her communicator's screen, activating the engine before buckling her own seatbelt and placing her feet on the pedals. Pressed both pedals gently.

Two propellers underneath the hoverbuggy began to spin, inflating a synthetic rubber skirt underneath the two-man car and it lifted into the air on a pocket of air.

Zeta slid her arms into the control gauntlets out of habit and mentally cursed her mistake. _Most people wouldn't even have a manual control system, let alone use it. I should have just used the autopilot._

Bruce looked surprised. "Manual, huh?"

"Yeah," she grinned, hoping he wouldn't think it too odd. "Feels like I'm in control, y'know? I never liked autopilot."  
"Me neither," he said quietly.

She gently tilted her forearms upwards, elbows down. As both her left and right elbows were tilted downward the left and right rear rockets began to fire softly. As both her left and right fists were tilted upwards the left and right forward rockets stayed off. She kept her forearms parallel, and the rockets stayed firing in parallel. The hoverbuggy started moving forward out of its garage.

She was moving onto the road now and thus pulled one of her left triggers, turning on the indicator. She eased off the right pedal, slowing one of the propellers under the hoverbuggy. The propellers spun in opposite directions – but as the clockwise propeller was now spinning faster than the counterclockwise propeller the overall movement of the propellers was clockwise. This resulted in an equal and opposite reaction from the cabin of the hoverbuggy – a turn to the left. Zeta allowed her left forearm to tilt horizontally and pushed her right elbow down further while pushing her right elbow out far from her waist, tilting the right rockets downwards and firing them at maximum power, banking the hoverbuggy as it turned.

"Not bad," commented Bruce. "You seem to have a knack for manual."  
"One develops a knack after a few years," fired back Zeta, shining from the compliment. She slammed her right foot back onto the pedal and reoriented her forearms and the hoverbuggy began to move towards a hill to the East of Alpha.

* * *

Author's note: I've just finished _Shigatsu wa Kimi no Uso._ I cried. If you want to cry, you should read it too.

* * *

"Is there anyone _not_ ready?!" called Jaggerjack. He paused for a second before continuing. "Alright! We're moving out of the hangar in thirty seconds!"

He sat back in his seat, buckled his restraints. Watched the monitor.

"This is docking control," said the intercom. "Shuttles, you are cleared to exit the _Shikinami_."

"Brace for acceleration in twenty seconds," said the monitor.

Aisling closed her eyes, clasped Nathan's hand in her left hand, Danniek's in her right. Both their palms were as sweaty as hers.

_I'm not the only one who's nervous._

"Ten seconds!" called Jaggerjack. "Nine, eight, seven, six, five! Acceleration in three, two, one, mark!"

The shuttle's chemical rockets began to burn softly, gently pushing its inhabitants into the backs of their seats. Beside them the other shuttle did the same.

"Rockets burning at 99% efficiency," displayed Overwatch's monitor. "Reactor within safety limits. Titan restraints functioning. No inefficiencies detected. No warnings to declare."  
"Ms. Brand!" called Jaggerjack from the upper floor. "You and your mechanics did a good job!"

She shuttle was outside the airlock doors now and they began to roll shut.

"This is docking control," said the intercom. "You are now outside our jurisdiction. Good luck, D-Team."

"This is jump control," said the intercom. "You have a free jump path to Venice 7, given name: Sorian. Estimated jump time: 19 hours and thirty-two minutes. Shuttle team D, you are clear to jump in forty seconds."

"Brace for rotational acceleration in three, two, one, mark," displayed the monitor, echoed by Jaggerjack. The shuttle's auxiliary rockets burned softly and the shuttle began to turn.

"Ooooh, I would _so _love to be doing this in a military shuttle," muttered Danniek.

_But that would blow the Austraeus's our cover immediately._

"Brace for rotational acceleration in three, two, one, mark," displayed the monitor. The shuttle's auxiliary rockets burned softly and the shuttle slowed, now facing towards where Venice 7 – AKA Sorian - would be in 19 hours and 32 minutes.

"Jump control, we are jumping in 10 seconds," displayed the monitor.

"Jumping in 10!" called Jaggerjack. "Nine!"

The soldiers in the shuttle began to chant, their voices rising in unison to mask their anxiety.

"Eight! Seven! Six!"

Aisling, Nathan, and a quivering Phillip joined in.

"Five! Four! Three!"

Deep within the two shuttles black holes flickered into existence. Light bent around the shuttle in odd angles – the light from the planet and the starship beside them stretched to enormous proportions while the stars ahead of them seemed to shrink.

"Two!" roared the inhabitants of the shuttle.

The pressure within the shuttle's chemical fuel reserves doubled.

"One!"

Vents connecting the shuttle's hydrogen and oxygen tanks opened with a _hiss!, _a spark plug fired.

"MARK!"

Venice 3 and the _Shikinami_ disappeared and Aisling was shoved into her seat with a scream of fear and a scream of wonder that the whole thing worked.

* * *

"We're here!" sang Zeta, shoving her arms forward, firing the forward rockets, slowing the hoverbuggy down. A few seconds later she eased her feet off the pedals, lowering the hoverbuggy into the sand. A tap of her communicator's screen later and stabilizing spikes dug into the ground.

The hoverbuggy was parked atop a rather sandy hill, in the middle of the dark Venice 3 night.

Zeta hopped out, opened the storage compartment and slung her electric katana over her back, pulled a pair of red beers out of the compartment.

"Want one?"  
"What is it?"  
"Red beer. It's… well, it's like… imagine a normal beer, and now imagine it stings the back of your throat like a strong ginger beer."  
"Sure."

She threw him the can, opened her own and took a sip, looked up at the sky. A second later, she heard the _psshh!_ of the seal of his beer being broken.

Bruce took a sip, and then decided to ask the question that had been on his mind.

"You're rather attached to that thing on your back," he asked. "What is it?"

"An electric katana." Zeta pulled it off her back and pulled it slowly from its sheath and it glistened in the starlight for a few seconds.  
"Ahh!"

She sheathed it again and slung it over her back again, feeling as though she'd just exposed a very hidden part of herself to this man. "I was born on New Tokyo four," she explained. "Where they've managed to engineer compact, personal EDF generators. You want to protect yourself? Normal bullets are useless when everyone's carrying around a vortex shield on their left arm. You've gotta use something charged to strip the plasma away." She pulled the katana off her back again; slinging it across her shoulders was habitual. Unsheathed a few centimetres and held it out to him to have a closer look, blushed ever so slightly as he took it.

"Of course, electrolasers, tasers and charged projectiles also work."

"Why not use one of them? Surely an electrolaser would be safer."

An electrolaser fired a two lasers at a particular frequency through the air at a target, ionising the air in its path. This made the air conductive, and allowed a pair of electrodes positioned at each laser to electrocute whatever the lasers hit as if the lasers were copper wires. A Titan's vortex shield would be stripped of its plasma; a personal EDF shield would similarly be rendered useless.

"A friend gave it to me. She's dead now."

"Oh. I'm sorry."  
"Don't be," sighed Zeta. "Anyway, I got good with this katana," she said, balancing the hilt on her finger as if to prove it. "So, not having a ranged weapon doesn't really matter that much."

"Ahh."

She finished her red beer, tossed it back in the hoverbuggy.

"So, lets launch some probes!" she grinned. "Thought of your messages yet?"

"Yeah, give me a second." He pulled his communicator out of his jeans' pocket. "Yeah, what were those communicator addresses again?"

Zeta pulled one of the probes out of the hoverbuggy's storage compartment, propped it upright. "Lets see… okay, first up is 832941-Broadcast. Send a message to that for the probe's broadcasting array."  
"Sending message… done."

"Cool," said Zeta, fingers flying across her communicator's screen.

The probe's serial number was _not_ 832941\. Her communicator, however, was. A message had just appeared in a folder she'd made the night before – named "Broadcast".

"Plus," she muttered under her breath to her AI, "forward this message to the _actual_ probe's broadcast array. Serial number 942377."

"Forwarding successful," said the AI into her earpiece.

The probe beeped once.

"The probe's received the message," said Zeta, turning to Bruce. "Next up is the probe's computer. Send your destination's coordinates to 832941-Computer."

"Sending coordinates."

Her communicator vibrated again, indicating the arrival of a message in her "Computer" folder. Plus automatically forwarded it to the probe's computer folder, and the probe beeped once more.

"Last up is the launch message. You wanna launch it now?"  
"Sure."

Zeta picked up the probe in both hands and hauled it ten metres away from her hoverbuggy and propped it upright before returning to the buggy.

"She's ready to launch. Send 'Launch' to 832941-launch and she'll be off!"  
"Now?"  
She grinned at him. "No time like the present!"

Her communicator vibrated once again, the probe beeped a third and final time – and the space in a cylinder above the probe began to contract and compress. The probe, in comparison, seemed to stretch high into the sky, a towering pillar of dark silver.

"That's the jump sequence!" shouted Zeta as the sound of the probe's jump drive rose to a loud whine. "See why we do this out here?!"

The rockets pulsed, and the probe disappeared, a column of light extending into the air where the probe had once been. There was a _crack!_ as the probe broke the sound barrier somewhere high in the distance, and the light began to fade.

"She's off," said Zeta from beside him, gazing upwards. "Ready for the next one?"

"Ready when you are."

She hauled the next probe out of the storage compartment, muttering a command to plus as she did. "Change my communicator's address to 832942 and forward the next three messages I receive to 942378-broadcast, 942378-computer, and 942377-launch, respectively."

She made a show of looking for the probe's identification sticker, which she'd replaced to say ' 832942' the night before.

"Same deal as the last probe," she said to Bruce, "but this time, use 832942-broadcast instead."

* * *

She'd been dreaming for a long time. Dreams of Titans; of Pilots and starships named '_Austraeus_' and '_Shikinami_', and of friends named Aisling and Nathan and Philip and Samantha and John and Bonerhead. She'd been on a planet, she'd dreamed, of sand and dirt and dust, of name 'Venice', with a Pilot who cared about her who had been called George.

There had been a shuttle, she dreamed. She'd gotten aboard to head for a planet named 'Carlyle', to steal some fuel for the '_Austraeus_', which had been renamed the '_Shikinami_'. She'd gotten into a cryopod, so that the shuttle could fly faster. She'd gotten in, and it had been really cold, and light and bright had rhymed…

"-phia!"

That's right. Her name ended with 'phia'. What was the first bit?

"Sophia!"

_Ah, that's what my name is._

"You in there?!" asked a voice. A hint of chav.

"Nnngghhh..."

"Pull her out," ordered a different voice. French accent.

HISS!

"Gah!" gasped Sophia, plunging forth from the cold cryofluid and into the warm air. She heard beeping sounds synchronized with her heartbeat. Looked to the left, saw the IV drip in her arm. Pulled it out, stared at it for a moment with drunken fascination.

_It's blue…_

"You're awake now!"

She sat up, looked around, saw the inside of the shuttle.

_I'm awake now..?_

"Cahn yeh remembur me name?" asked Bonerhead. "Ahn how maahny fingers ahm I holdin' up?"

"Bones Deen, and three."  
"Nah, I'm holdin' four."  
"Cut it, Deen," ordered the French woman. _Jenni. That's her name._ "You're right, Sophia. He's only holding three up."

"Aww, come on lass," muttered Bonerhead. "I'm only tryin' teh have some fun."

"Get out of there and put some clothes on. We've just jumped past Solcarlyle and we're on approach to Carlyle refueling station. We're going to be taking that station in two hours."

"Yes, Ma'am," grunted Sophia, hauling a leg out of the cryopod.

_Ah. That's right, I'm practically naked._

She placed her shivering left leg onto the deck floor, pulled her upper body upwards, now standing, wearing nothing but the underwear she'd had on when she'd goten into the cryo-pod. She felt cold liquid drip from body, shivered. Moved to sit on the side of the cyropod, opened the cryopod's storage compartment and pulled a towel out. Dried most of the liquid from her body and soaked underwear. Pulled on some under-armor leggings like she'd been trained to do before moving on to the upper half of the under-armor. Stretched, before pulling on a pair of over-armor pants, followed by torso over-armor and then chest over-armor. Boots came next. The last piece of 'clothing' to don was her usual shy and quiet persona.

"All right, listen up!" called Jenni from the upper deck. "Can everyone on the lower deck hear me?"  
"Yes, Ma'am!" roared the soldiers from the lower deck.

"The fact that our shuttle isn't full of holes means that they have not discovered us yet! In a few minutes we're going to turn the shuttle around and drift towards Carlyle with our jump drives engaged. With any luck they won't notice us till we're too late, at which point we'll jump underneath the refueling station and use them as a shield."

A picture appeared on display screens around the shuttle.

"This," called Jenni, "is an image our sensors have just captured of Carlyle refueling station!"

The station itself was an enormous metal behemoth floating above the surface of Carlyle, an enormous yellow gas giant. Thin metal girders connected huge circular storage tanks together, presumably _full_ of tritium and deuterium – reactor fuel, extracted from the gas below by means of a pipeline that dangled below the station, disappearing below the surface.

High above the station itself was another circular storage tank. It was from this tank that ships were allowed to refuel – given that they had paid the refueling station the necessary funds first. Any ship approaching the high refueling tank without paying beforehand would have a warning shot fired at it. Any ship approaching the lower station would be filled with railgun projectiles without warning.

"So!" shouted Jenni, pointing at the picture. "We are jumping underneath this bit! Once we're there, everyone is going to put their oxygen masks on. We're going to unload underneath the station and assault the command center, which we believe to be located here! The station is in orbit, so we'll be doing this mission in a zero-g environment. Everyone understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"Good! We'll be leaping around the outside of the station for this mission! Don't get too far away or your magnetic boots won't work! Always stay within a metre of the station!"  
"Yes, Ma'am!"

"Private Leonard! You're in charge of squad one! Private Sona! You're leading squad two! Private Jackson, you're taking squad three! I'm in my Titan, on my own! Are we clear?!"  
"Yes, Ma'am!"

"Squad one will move from the unload point under the station towards the north end of the station and will advance up the north end towards the east! Squad two will take the south end of the station and will advance east! Squad three will take the civilian mechanics down the middle, behind the other two squads. I will stay in front of squad three and provide support for squads when they need it.

As no invasion force has ever made it that far, we don't know what to expect. Carlyle may have a private military force on contract, they may have automated defense turrets, they may have spectres. Keep your eyes peeled and _be careful_. Understand?"  
"Yes, Ma'am!"

Jenni looked around the shuttle's upper deck, surveying the soldiers listening to her.

"We arrive in one hour! Stretch the kinks out of your muscles, load your weapons and be ready to unload by then. The other teams will be stealing a fleet from Kodai about now, and will be jumping to this station with the _Austraeus's_ legacy drive soon. Let's take this station by then!"

* * *

The shuttle faced Solcarlyle, moving towards Carlyle refueling station but burning its engines to slow it down. From an observer located on Carlyle's refueling station, the shuttle's engines could be mistaken as an expanding bright spot on Solcarlyle's surface.

The only reason this maneuver had worked was because Venice 3, Solcarlyle and Carlyle 1 only arranged themselves in a suitable position once every 15 kilohours. Technically, _anyone_ could pull this kind of maneuver off by approaching from behind Solcarlyle and using Solcarlyle to mask the glow of their engines once they passed.

There had, of course, been previous attempts to take Carlyle – such a bounteous supply of hydrogen in its three isotopes, so close to a trading planet like Venice 3 was bound to attract attention. Said attempts had involved fleets of battlecruisers retrofitted for stealth until the last moment possible, swarms of frigates and destroyers so large they could block out . Attempts that had ended with said battlecruisers fleeing with their tails between their legs and their hulls scarred with railgun fire.

Rumor had it that a demon lurked below Carlyle's surface, crushing fleets with its invisible hands whenever anything seemed like it was close to overwhelming Carlyle's defenses. In the century they had been operational, Carlyle's legendary 32 orbital railgun battery had never failed to repel an invasion force.

* * *

They drove home back into Alpha afterwards, Bruce admiring the city and the stars, Zeta working the control gauntlets and pedals.

_I wish he'd glance this way a little more._

_What?_

_Did I mean that?_

_Surely not… I mean, I'm Zeta. I'm a professional. I'm only doing this because Menelaus is paying me to investigate him._

_Yeah, that's it. Part of the job,_ she told herself.

"So that's it, huh?" asked Bruce as the hoverbuggy smoothly turned a wide, sweeping corner, Zeta gently easing off the left foot pedal and tilting her elbows to match.

"I guess so," she sighed. Smiled softly at him. "Your messages are away, off to whomever is out to receive them."  
"I don't even know if there will _be _anyone to receive them," he mused. "All I have is hope." He turned to her and returned the smile. "But hey, if I don't try, I'll never know, huh?"

_If I don't try, I'll never know, huh?_

"Well," said Zeta, a thought suddenly striking her, "I never got your communicator address."

"Huh?"

_Oh come on, please._

"It's just a communicator, so none of that fancy comms pod stuff. Uhh… let me see..."

She laughed. "You're one of those people who can't remember their own comms address?"  
"Yeah," he mumbled, embarrassed. "Ah. Wait, what?"  
"You're reading the sticker on the back, right?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the road. "First two numbers declare the comms chip type. Yours is a personal communicator device, so, that number will be 83."  
"Wait, I thought comms probes were 83."  
"Unlabelled pods just have personal communicator device chips inside them," she lied. "So, 83 for both. Next up is your manufacturer code. Did you buy that communicator at the spaceport?"  
"...Yeah?"  
"And you went for the cheapest model?"  
"...Yeah..?"  
"Then it's probably a Kodai communicator. They're cheap here, cos' their factory is in the system. Their carrier code is 03. Last up is your communicator's unique identifier; and _that's_ what is written on the back."

"438945."

"So, in that case, your communicator's infonet address should be 83-03-438945."

"Ah."

"Mind writing that down for me?" she asked, motioning to her communicator lying in the glovebox. "Notes application is at the home screen."

"Sure."

_Yes!_

"What?"

"Huh?" asked Zeta.

"You were giggling or something."  
"Oh, um, nothing. Where do you want me to drop you off?"

"Corner of eighth street and second avenue, please."

"Not too far from here," commented Zeta, turning into the CBD. "They've got a few inns up eighth, right?"  
"Yeah. And seventh is a tourist district. Surely just a coincidence, right?"

"Heh. At least they turn all the lights off at 21:00."

Bruce shifted his gaze towards the top of the hoverbuggy's windshield. "Light pollution, huh? The sky _is_ prettier without it."

Zeta eased both feet off the pedals, pushing her fists downwards and her elbows upwards, slowing the hoverbuggy as it glided into a hoverbuggy park.

"And here we are!"

He opened his door, stepped out of the buggy.

"How much longer are you gonna be staying on Venice 3?" asked Zeta, hopeful.  
"Mmm… I've got friends who are collecting something for me right now. I'll be off to another system when they get back."

_Oh._

"Ahh, I see."

His lips moved. "I'm glad I met you, Zeta." No sound came out.

Her windpipe constricted. "Yeah, me too," she choked softly. "I might see you later, huh?"  
"Yeah."

He slammed the door of the hoverbuggy and she circled the streets of Alpha for an hour. Down first street. Turn onto seventh avenue. Then to fourteenth street before a right turn onto first avenue. And then back to first. 7th. 14th. 1st. 1st. 7th. 14th. 1st. Working the pedals, flicking her elbows through the air like a machine.

And then she looked at the time and she drove back to her apartment and flopped onto her bed and cried.


	26. The invasion

"Hey, Jim," asked a technician aboard the Carlyle refueling station's defense command center, "Remember that sunspot we saw earlier?"

'Jim' kicked his desk, wheeling his desk chair over to his subordinate. "What is it?"  
"Well, it's just… I mean, it's probably not a problem."  
"Spit it out, mate," said Jim, slapping the technician on the back.  
"Well… It's moved, that's all."  
"Pfft. Sunspots move _all the time!_"  
"It's also gotten a bit bigger."  
"Bah," snorted Jim. "It's fine."  
"Still, I'd like to check it out on the auxiliary optical scanners."  
"_Really?_ That paranoid?"  
"Better safe than sorry, right?"  
"_Fine, _go for it."

The technician stood up and mentally prepared himself for the journey. The auxiliary optical scanner was located _on the other side_ of the damn facility. And Carlyle's refueling station was _enormous_.

_Every journey begins with a single step, right?  
_

He took his first step -

\- and sat down on the neighboring desk chair before logging in to the remote control systems for the auxiliary optical scanner, a program installed on the computer next to his.

"Alright, Jim. Here we go. Capturing image of Solcarlyle… completed. Hey, hold on a second. These images are different."  
"Well of course they are," said Jim, taking a sip of a coffee. "They're taken from cameras in different positions, right? The primary camera is located on the North side of the station and the auxiliary camera is at the South, right?"

"Yeah… but if this was just a sunspot, we'd expect the sunspot to stay still relative to Solcarlyle's surface between pictures. Whereas the sunspot is in a _different_ position between the images."  
"Huh."  
"Jim, do ya think that it could… I dunno, be a starship? Like, something _not even on_ Solcarlyle's surface?"  
"Impossible. Nobody's tried invading Carlyle refueling station for… well, since I've been here, anyway."

"Do ya think it's worth firing a shot at it, just to be sure?"  
"Aw, all right." Jim slurped his coffee once again, grimaced at the cold dregs left in the bottom and threw the cup into a rubbish bin. Glanced over at his own monitor. "Railgun 6 is still in an elliptical orbit from last time; fire a shot from that one. It'll be at apogee over Carlyle's horizon in two minutes, we can use the recoil to stabilize it."  
"Gotcha. Bringing railgun 6 online, triangulating position of the 'sunspot'. Calculating firing solution, complete."  
"It'll probably be nothing," Jim snorted, walking over to the coffee machine. "Oi!" he roared to the entire control center. "Luke reckons we might be getting invaded by a sunspot! Twenty credits says he's wrong, eh! Anyone else wanna put money on it?"

The technician rolled his eyes as he hit the 'open fire' button.

* * *

"One hour to the refueling station!" roared Jenni. "According to the information we retrieved from Venice 3's infonet, that's a new record!"  
"For what?" asked a soldier from the lower deck.  
"For _not_ being shot at upon approaching Venice 3!" laughed Jenni. "Is everyone ready fo-"

"Movement detected in enemy defense systems," displayed Overwatch's monitor.

Jenni's face fell.

"What?" asked the same soldier.

"_Shit._"  
"Huh?"  
"One of Carlyle's railguns just started turning."  
"Meaning?"  
"_We're being shot at. _Sophia, Bones. You got any bright ideas?"  
"Wehl," mused Bonerhead, "They'll have spotted our thermal signature on their scanners. Chances are they're not sure _what_ we are yet. If we could somehow dump our excess heat and go cold we could trick them into firing at something else."  
"Too late," muttered Jenni, blue eyes flashing over Overwatch's monitor. "They've fired. Everybody, _hold on to something!_ Overwatch, take evasive action!"

"Taking evasive action," displayed the monitor.

* * *

"Uhh, Jim?"  
"What is it _now? _Sunspots movin' again?"  
"Umm… well, yes. It just dodged our Railgun projectile."  
"What do you mean, 'dodged'?"  
"That's what I mean, Jim. It got brighter for a second, as if it had rockets or thrusters, and accelerated out of the Railgun projectile's path."  
"That's impossible."  
"Unless we're getting invaded."  
"Oookay… Bill, Lucy, you're with Luke over here. I want to know what that sunspot is."

"It appears to be a small shuttle, Sir," said Bill.  
"I think so too, Jim," said Lucy.

"Aw, crap. Uhh, where's the management handbook -"  
"I believe we are supposed to open fire, Sir."  
"Oh. Um, then, listen up everybody! We are under attack! Open fire on that shuttle!"

"With pleasure," grinned Luke the defense technician, tapping the 'paint target(s)' button on his monitor.

* * *

"Is anyone _not_ okay?!" roared Jenni. "No? I'm taking your silence to mean you're all doing just fine! Or unconscious!"

"Movement detected in enemy defense systems," displayed Overwatch's monitor.  
"Overwatch, I want you to display a counter of how many of Carlyle's railguns are pointed at us," ordered Jenni. "And I want a warning every time they fire."  
"Ten projectiles inbound," displayed Overwatch's monitor.

"_Merde,_" muttered Jenni. "Well that's just fucking wonderful. Okay, everyone. Remember how I told you to hold on? Well, _keep on holding on_. Overwatch, get us under the refueling station as quickly and safely as possible. And keep me updated with your Estimated Chance of Success for that order, okay?"

"ECoS: 87%."  
"That low, huh?" muttered Jenni. "I'd prefer 99%."  
"11 projectiles inbound. ECoS: 85%."  
"Damn. Keep going, Overwatch. I'll think of something."  
"10 projectiles inbound. ECoS: 86%."  
"Fantastic," muttered Jenni. "Oh, and another thing. I want acceleration warnings, too."  
"Brace for acceleration in two," read the monitor. "One."

"BRACE!" roared Jenni.  
"Mark," read the monitor.

The shuttle began to turn to the side.

"Three, two, one," read the monitor.  
"BRACE!"  
"Mark."

The rear engines kicked in, shunting the shuttle out of the path of two railgun projectiles.

"8 projectiles inbound. 9 projectiles inbound. ECoS: 84%. 83%. Brace for acceleration in three."

"Aw fuck it, just hold on tight all the time."  
"Mark."

The thrusters had rotated 180 degrees to face the other direction and now stopped the shuttle in its vertical tracks – and thus, a railgun projectile that had been aimed to hit _had the shuttle continued on its path_ missed.

"Narrow miss. Re-evaluating ECoS parameters. ECoS at 76%. Brace for acceleration in three, two, one, mark. 14 projectiles inbound. Warning. Two enemy railguns have come over the horizon and are now in range. 15 projectiles inb- 17 projectiles inbound. Brace for acceleration in one. Mark. ECoS: 64%."

"That's too low," growled Jenni, having wedged herself between two cryopods and currently holding onto the ship with her legs. "Anyone got any bright ideas?"  
"Yeah," said Sophia through gritted teeth. "Adjust our destination."  
"To where?"  
"Make a beeline for Carlyle and put us into orbit under the gas giant's surface as soon as possible."

There was a brief pause, the shuttle's rockets fired again, and then Jenni said, "it's crazy, but it might just work. Overwatch, did you hear that?"  
"Affirmative," displayed the monitor.

"Think you can do that? Put us into orbit below the surface of the gas?"  
"ECoS of new orders: 87%."  
"That's better," muttered Jenni. Put us into orbit below the surface of the gas giant in the safest route possible."  
"Brace for acceleration in three, two, one, mark," displayed the monitor.

The shuttle rotated and the thrusters kicked in a second later, violently shoving the shuttle along a new trajectory – straight for the planet's surface.

* * *

"Jim? The invading shuttle doesn't seem to be invading any more."  
"Because it's exploded, right?"  
"Uhh… no. It's now diving for Carlyle's surface."

* * *

Zeta dropped from the sky, landed on the guard's back and he dropped with a grunt, neck snapping under her carefully-placed weight. His companion noticed a second too late. A swipe of her blade and his head cleanly detached itself from his shoulders and the two halves of what was once a man slumped to the grass.

Zeta sheathed her sword and activated her armor's cloaking device. Now near-invisible, she slipped into the open courtyard beyond.

"Plus, Enemy report," she whispered.

"Six more guards," said Plus. "Nine, twelve and three o'clock."

Out came her R-97 compact SMG. Out came twelve bullets. Down came the guards; two shots was all it took.

_Hell, it would only take one shot. But better safe than dead._

The SMG went to her back again and she advanced over their corpses.

And then she saw him. There was Bruce, arms bound with ropes, carried by the four men in black cloaks that she'd tailed before. They were carrying him away, into a starship!

She tore after them, stim surging through her veins, and with a yell she pounced, invisible becoming a visible force of destruction. She drew her left arm up, vortex shield on maximum power. There was a _ratatatatat! o_f an SMG, and six bullets appeared within the plasma in front of her. She impaled the first of the four men with her electric katana, whisked the R-97 out of the dying man's hands and shot his comrade with it.

_Ew. Silencer. I mean, really?_

Her blade continued, dicing the third man into small chunks. Her vortex shield had done its job keeping her safe from the fourth man but by now it was out of charge and she fired the stored bullets and plasma at the fourth man before whirling to engage the first man, who had somehow stood back up, and the second man, who was now dragging the bound Bruce towards the starship.

A jab to the neck; a sword to the heart, and the first man was down for good. She remembered her training from her years as a Pilot and jump-kicked the second man before unclipping her R-97 to launch three bullets through the head of the third man, who had now taken over from the second man in dragging Bruce. The fourth man stood up again, despite excruciating stomach burns from the plasma that had been fired at him, and raised _his_ SMG at Zeta. She took a shot to the shoulder and grimaced before firing off a right hook that caught him in the side of his head – her left arm flicking behind her to re-engage its freshly-recharged vortex shield, catching the bullets the second and first man had just fired at her.

She fought like a demon; she really did. But against the onslaught of these men who _refused _to die…

She woke up. Saw the roof of her apartment.

_It's blurry…_

She brought an arm upwards, rubbed the liquid out of her eyes.

_Much clearer now._

_Have I been crying?_

She sat up, felt the clothes she'd slept in, same as yesterday but now drenched in sweat. She pulled her under-armor over her head and off her legs, put a hand to her chest. Felt her heart beat for a few seconds. She gritted her teeth, hauled herself off the bed and collapsed into the sheets and dirty clothes lying beside it.

_I must have kicked __the sheets off __last night._

She got to her feet again, stumbled into the shower. Threw off her old bra and panties and stood, head downcast, under the torrent of water. Somehow found the effort to tip some shampoo into her hand and rubbed it through her hair.

_It's gotten longer. Maybe I need a haircut._

Stumbled out of the shower, threw a towel over her shoulders and stood naked before her mirror. Laughed sadly.

_It was stupid of me to think that it could work, huh?_

She pulled on a fresh pair of panties and clipped on a new bra.

_Fuck the under-armor._

She walked back into her bedroom, pulled on a pair of loose pants and a male sweatshirt before flopping back onto her bed.

_Today I don't feel like doing anything._

There was a beep from her communicator and she lifted it lazily above her head, scanned the message with her eyes.

"From: Styx Menelaus," read the message.

"Body: Zeta, Thank you for your services. The communicator messages you intercepted are very useful to me. I am no longer in need of your services. I have deposited your payment in your bank account."

"Wait…" she muttered. "Plus, read me my mission description again."  
"Menelaus commissioned you to investigate 'the man who purchased the carbine'," said Plus helpfully. "So that he could work out what the TKY _Shikinami_ was doing here on Venice 3."  
"But I'm not even _done _with investigating Bruce and his friends yet… wait, what does he mean, _the communicator messages?_ Plus, did you forward the messages we intercepted to Menelaus?"  
"Yes, early this morning. Menelaus requested an update on our progress and as you were asleep I took action."  
"Oh."

_I wonder what he was even using those comms probe for?_

"Okay," said Zeta, thinking aloud, "Plus, read me the messages Bruce sent with the comms probe."

"Comms probe one sent a news article from the day we were informed Demeter had been destroyed. No custom programming. Probe destination: core worlds."

_The core worlds?_

"Comms probe two: quoting message: 'Is anybody there? The TKY _Shikinami_ is orbiting Venice 3, and is here to help.' Custom programming exists on this probe. Probe is set to scan for artificial activity in the area, and return to Venice 3 with the results of the scan. Probe destination: Demeter."

_What the hell? But Demeter's been destroyed for ages._

"Comms probe three: quoting message: 'Is anybody there? The TKY _Shikinami _is orbiting Venice 3, and will arrive with help.' No custom programming. Probe destination: Outpost 207."

_The fuck?_ Zeta mumbled internally, her mind a jumble of thoughts regarding the probes, her mission, the four men in black she'd been ordered to follow and Bruce.

"The implication being that Bruce, and the starship he traveled upon, are affiliated with the IMC."

She leaped up from her bed, began to pace. "So Menelaus thinks that Bruce and the _Shikinami_ are from the IMC, huh?"  
"Affirmative. He has them on trial for 'being IMC agents conspiring against the peace' as we speak."  
"_WHAT?!_" screamed Zeta, spinning on the spot. "Where?!"  
"The Venice 3 senate. "I can arrange transportation, or you can walk."

"Get me my hoverbuggy," she snarled, grabbing her electric katana from her bedside cabinet and pulling her EDF generator onto her arm. Her pulse rocket boots went into one hand; she pushed her apartment door open with the other and vaulted the railing of the stairs, landed beside her hoverbuggy and dove through the door. Tossed her electric katana and boots on the passenger seat and stood on the pedals.

"Plus, call Snake."  
"Calling 'Snake'."  
"Hey Snake," she grinned, teeth bared, eyes flashing dangerously. "I need one last favor from you."

"Ugh, what is it now?"  
"You've still got that missile that you use as a coffee table, right?"  
"Yes..."  
"Does it still work?"

* * *

"Two narrow misses. Re-evaluating ECoS parameters. ECoS at 82%. Brace for acceleration in three, two, one, mark. 24 projectiles inbound. Warning. Enemy railguns are now firing orbital rounds from behind the horizon. 25 projectiles inbound. 22 projectiles inbound. One narrow miss. Re-evaluating ECoS parameters. ECoS at 80%. Brace for acceleration in one. Mark. ECoS: 81%. 24 projectiles inbound."

"Fantastic," growled Jenni. "ETA to Carlyle's surface?"  
"ETA to destination: Fifteen minutes and twenty-four seconds," displayed the monitor. "Brace for acceleration in two. One. Mark."

One of the soldiers lost his hold on a handrail and hit his head on the shuttle's hull, groaned with pain.

"Someone hold on to him!" commanded Jenni. "Overwatch, is there anything we can do to get there faster?"

"Such measures would sacrifice our chances of survival," displayed the monitor.  
"Forget it," muttered Jenni. "Keep doing what you've been doing."

* * *

"WE'VE GOT THIRTY TWO RAILGUNS!" screamed Jim from Carlyle's defense command center. "HOW HAVE WE NOT HIT THAT BLOODY SHUTTLE YET?!"

"It's too small, Sir! It can can easily accelerate out of the path of our projectiles!"

Jim took a deep breath. "Stop firing and allow all the railguns to reload. Then fire every railgun in such a way that the projectiles all simultaneously strike an area in the shuttle's vicinity at once. I want one railgun hitting the shuttle's expected path, one taking the shuttle's path _if _it were to accelerate at maximum speed the moment it sees us firing, and one hitting the shuttle _if_ it were to turn and decelerate the moment it sees us firing. All the other railguns should fire in a random scatter pattern between those ranges."

"Yes, Sir," grinned Luke, keying in the necessary commands. "Putting Railguns into standby… now. Correcting orbits… complete. Sir, we are ready to fire."  
"Nail the bastard."  
"Nailing it, Sir."

* * *

"Zero projectiles incoming," displayed Overwatch's monitor.

"They've stopped firing..." said Jenni through gritted teeth. "Why the hell have they stopped firing?"  
"Three proje- ten projec- twenty-four pro- thirty-two projectiles incoming."  
"Aw, hell."

Sophia tapped Jenni on the arm.  
"Yeah, what is it?"  
"Umm… can you tell Overwatch to cut the jump drives?"  
"Huh?"

"The projectiles are accounting for our speed, right? So if we cut the jump drives..."

"Holy shit that's genius. Overwatch, you heard her!"

"Jump drives offline."

* * *

"_Bullshit,_" Jim swore, staring at the display. "_Bull-sheeeit._"

"The enemy shuttle is now 10 hours away, Sir."  
"And they can hit their jump drives any time they like to make that 15 minutes. Honestly; what kind of shuttle has an X40 jump drive?! You could stick that on a _cruiser!_"

* * *

"All projectiles have missed," displayed the monitor. "Adding maneuver to avoidance tactics archive. ECoS: 87%."

"That's more like it," grinned Jenni, licking her lips. "FORWARD, ONTO CARLYLE!"


	27. Odd orbits

Author's note 1: Sorry for the short chapter; I have tons of content ready to proof-read. Expect constant updates over the next few days.

* * *

Author's note 2: Skip this if you don't give a shit about planet names.

My naming conventions for planets is starting to fall to pieces, so I want to clarify some things.

My convention is as follows:

Sol-(systemname) names a star (Solyuma refers to the star in the Yuma solar system, for example.)

(Systemname)-number names a planet. 1 for the closest planet to the star. (Venice 3 is the third planet from the star Solvenice.)

Unfortunately, this doesn't work with the official Titanfall lore – for example, the planet "Leviathan" is in the "Badlands" system. Under my convention, Leviathan should be named "Badlands 2" or something similar.

So I want to clarify some names.

You all know the Venice system; its had most of the action so far. I have referenced Venice 3, a trading planet, and Venice 7, home to Kodai industries, also known as Sorian (because I screwed up my own naming conventions). _The IMS Austraeus / TKY Shikinami is currently in orbit above Venice 3, as is the MCOR Retaliator. I will refer to Venice 3 as Venice 3 and Venice 7 as Venice 7._

Next up is the Carlyle system. It has a gas giant, called Carlyle. Orbiting Carlyle is a fuel refinery, but as ships can purchase fuel from the refinery, most people refer to the refinery as the "Carlyle refueling station". The station is protected by 32 orbital railguns. _Jenni, Sophia and Bonerhead are currently in a shuttle orbiting the planet Carlyle. I will refer to Carlyle as Carlyle. _

The Yuma system is home to Yuma 5 (my name), also known as Victor (Titanfall lore name), and Yuma 6 (my name), also known as Oceanus (I screwed up my conventions and named this planet twice). Oceanus is home to maps "Overlook", "Smuggler's cove", and your favorite, "Lagoon" (this is not stated in the lore, but as all three of these maps have an ocean theme I assume they are all located on the same planet). _I will refer to Victor as Victor – not Yuma 5 – and Oceanus as Oceanus – not Yuma 6. _

The Nexus system is home to Nexus. The map "Nexus" is located on the planet Nexus. _I will refer to Nexus as Nexus – a number is not necessary as Nexus is the only planet in the system._

Carlyle, Yuma and Nexus form a sort of triangle of systems all circling slowly around Venice. (Please don't ask me to explain how this orbital arrangement came about, I don't have the heart.) Venice's centrality is what makes it such a good system for trading.

Then there is the Badlands system, home to Badlands 2 (my name), aka Leviathan (Titanfall lore name). "Boneyard" takes place here. I think it is highly likely that "Rise" is also located on Leviathan. _I will refer to Leviathan as Leviathan – not Badlands 2._

The Hephaestus system is home to Hephaestus 1. The planet is home to the map "corporate". _I will refer to Hephaestus 1 as Hephaestus, as it is the only planet in the system._

The Haven system is home to the planet Haven 9, which I have not referenced yet. I have tried to imply that it is home to the map "Angel city". _I will refer to Haven 9 as Haven 9. _

Badlands, Hephaestus and Haven all kinda orbit Venice, like Carlyle, Yuma and Nexus – but much further away.

The Sticez system is home to Sticez 2. Outpost 207 is a mountainous moon orbiting Sticez 2. The Sticez system is far away from the other systems I have mentioned. _I will continue to refer to Outpost 207 as Outpost 207, but know that it orbits Sticez 2 and is in the Sticez system._

Now, on with the show.

* * *

"And that," yelled Danniek over the noise of the shuttle's rockets, "is when the flier swooped down -" he motioned with his hand, struggling to hold it up against the intense acceleration the shuttle's rockets produced - "and nicked his rifle!"

"What?!" roared Nathan, seated on the other side of Aisling. "We're talking about the little guy, right?!"  
"Yeah! So he takes the kraber, yeah, in his mouth, like this, and all of a sudden, the kraber fires!"

"You're kidding!"

"Nah! It's completely true! An' the bullet narrowly misses the big flier! So, the little flier shits himself, thinking, 'what the hell have I just picked up,' and the big flier shits himself too, thinking, 'jeez, since when did the runt have such a loud roar!"  
"Wait – no way!"  
"Yeah! The big flier takes off, having been bested in the roaring competition, an' the little flier is alpha male of the roost! An' he's got no idea _how _he got to be the alpha, just that he is!"  
"What happened next?!"  
"Well, only the alpha male gets to mate with the females! So all the females flock to the tiny little king flier, right, and try to mate with him, but the poor bastard's too small for them to mate properly! So he's sittin' there, right, flapping around on the ground, while the females pile on top and wonder why he isn't holding the weight!"  
"All cos Jaggerjack dropped his kraber?!"  
"IT WASN'T MY KRABER!" roared Jaggerjack. "I USE A DMR- Wait, hold on. SHUT UP, EVERYONE!"

"Halfway point reached," displayed Overwatch's monitor. "Acceleration ceasing in three,"

"ACCELERATION CEASING IN THREE!" Jaggerjack shouted. "WOOOO HOO! ONE! MARK!"

The shuttle began to drift (rather than actively push its occupants into their seats) and the drone of the shuttle's thrusters subsided to be replaced by groans of relief through both shuttles. Aisling knew that the soldiers in Rimjob's shuttle would be thinking the same thing as her.

_Thank fuck that's over._

"Jump drives offline," displayed the monitor.

A high pitched whine that had been emanating from the rear of the shuttle began to subside. Outside the stars exploded outwards, their light no longer distorted by the shuttle's jump drive.

Aisling unbuckled her seat belt and pushed off her seat, now feeling completely weightless. Rotated in place, grinning at – to her – an upside-down Nathan and Danniek. Stretched her legs.

"I'm flying, Jack!"

"What?" asked Jaggerjack.  
"Nothing," she giggled. "Just a line from an old movie."  
"_Titanic,_ yeah?"  
"Wha- how did you know?"  
"Pilots have to complete a history course as part of their training," explained Jaggerjack, "and many trainees choose to write a thesis on James Cameron's documentary_._"

"Oh."

"Brace for rotational acceleration in three," displayed Overwatch's display."

Danniek reached upwards, grabbed Aisling's ankle and hauled her back into her seat and she buckled her seatbelt again, nodded a 'thank you'.

The shuttle's auxiliary engines fired, putting the shuttle into a slow turn.

"Brace for rotational acceleration in three, two, one, mark."

The shuttle's rockets now accelerated the shuttle _in the other direction_, slowing its rotation so that its main rockets now pointed in the opposite direction - towards Venice 7.

"Jump drives online."

The whine began once again. Outside, even the stars made way for the shuttle.

"Brace for acceleration in three, two, one, mark."

With a snarl at the pain at the growing cramp in her bottom, Aisling found herself pushed back into her seat again.

"Continuing with Jump to Venice 7," displayed the monitor. "ETA 9 hours and 49 minutes."

* * *

Sophia tugged at Bonerhead's shoulder.

"Yeh? Wot is' it, Soph?"  
"Umm… I've been thinking about this for a while now… but, does Carlyle seem like it's too low?"

He frowned at her. "Wot 'chu mean, 'too low'?"  
"Well… its going really fast… so shouldn't it be, umm, in a higher orbit?"  
"Yeh' know, it's funny yeh said that. Cos' I've been thinkin' the same thing. Oi, Jenni. Can we use Overwatch fo' somethin'?"  
"What is it, Bones?" asked Jenni.  
"Soph' an' I have been thinkin'. An we reckon that Carlyle's orbi'al refuelin' station's a bit too low. Could we use some o' the sensors?"

Jenni turned to Overwatch's monitor. "Overwatch we want to use some of your processing power to analyze the station's orbit. Can we do that without compromising the safety of the shuttle?"

"Affirmative. Analysis will be placed on hold when necessary."  
"Okay," confirmed Jenni. "Overwatch is fine with that."  
"Then," said Bonerhead, speaking to Overwatch, "with respect to the gravitational pull of Carlyle at the refueling station's height, please calculate the speed at which Carlyle should be orbiting in order to remain in a circular orbit."

"Analysis in progress. Attention: We are now at a lower orbital height than all orbital railguns. Attention: enemy orbital railguns have distorted their orbits due to recoil from firing, and may have to correct their orbits before being able to fire again. ECoS: 92%."  
"That's more like it!" grinned Jenni.

"ETA to orbit under Carlyle's surface: two minutes."

* * *

"Sir? The shuttle is at the cloud layer. Our optical sensors can't target it any more."

There was a brief silence.

"Sir?"

"Notify our investors in the Haven system that we have been compromised and require reinforcements," said Jim, head in his hands.  
"Yes, Sir."

* * *

"Yeah, hold on Snake. Plus, engage the autopilot. Yeah, what were you saying Snake?" asked Zeta, tugging off her jeans.  
"I'm saying, can it wait? I'm, uhh, kinda busy right now."  
"Not really… one of my, uhh, friends has been jailed. And I want to bust them out."

There was a pause.

"What?"  
"You heard me. Well, they're not in jail _yet_, they're on trial. But they're going to be labeled as guilty."  
"Why?"  
"Menelaus thinks they're from the IMC. So, he'll have them on trial for 'conspiring against the peace' or some shit like that, and try put them through court while the rest of the senate is eating lunch."  
"Ah. One of _those_ trials."  
"Yeah. Where Menelaus picks the judge and _is_ the jury."  
"Shit. So, what do you want me to do about it?"

"I'm headed there now," said Zeta, pulling on a spare pair of under armor leggings she always kept in the hoverbuggy for situations like this. "By the time I get there the trial will probably be over, with my friends in the custody below the senate building. I'm going to show up – aw _FUCK!_"  
"What?"  
"I won't be able to cloak," she muttered. "I've only got my under-armor with me."  
"Are… are you _sure _this is a good idea?"  
"I'll be fine. It just means that the distraction I need you to make with that missile is extra important."

She began to pull her sweatshirt over her head, noted the stares of pedestrians through her wind shield.

"Oookay…" mumbled Snake. "Well, I've got the missile pointed out my window now. NO, MRS MORRIS, IT'S NOT AIMED AT YOUR CAT! Sorry, neighbors. Anyway, where do you want it to hit?"  
"Well… the best way to raid the senate's underground prison would be to go through the back."

Zeta grabbed a bottle of Stim from the glovebox; attached thin plastic tube and allowed some of the clear liquid Stim to run along the length of the tube, stopping after a single drip had fallen. Next she felt around her left armpit; found a small plastic nub surgically embedded into her skin. Unscrewed the cap, exposing a valve. She connected the plastic tube to the valve, screwed it in tight and winced.

The valve was the beginning of a thin tube running from her skin to the subclavian artery within her armpit. In a moments' notice, she could inject the Stim directly into her artery.

"Zeta? You there?"  
"Ugh, yeah. Just connecting my stim tube."  
"Oh. So, you want to go through the back?"

"No."

"Huh?"  
"The back entrances of the Senate would be the best way to break in. Which is why I want the missile to hit the back of the senate building and provide a distraction while I go through the front."  
"Uhh..."  
"Look, I've got this in the bag. I think."

Zeta slipped into her spare under-armor shirt and activated the leggings and shirt. Felt the electromagnetic fibres begin to harden and soften over her body. If she were shot these fibres would connect together and harden to stop the bullet and transfer its inertia over a wide area of her skin - bruising, instead of puncturing.

"Oooohhh that feels weird," she groaned. "Sorry, reactive armor booting up. Anyway. These friends I'm busting out? They can handle themselves. Once I bust them out, we're golden. I think one of them might even be as experienced as I am."  
"Wait, what?"  
"He's a merc. Of some kind. I think."

_IMC, huh?_

Hey, he's probably a pilot.

"Well," said Snake. "If he's looking for a job-"  
"He's _probably _going to be busy," said Zeta, and her heart sank slightly. "But, I'll let him know."  
"Okay… well, just let him know that Snake helped save him.

"Will do." She strapped her electric katana to her back, pulled her EDF generator onto her arm and covered her under-armor with the jeans and sweatshirt she'd been wearing. Next came on a tiny earpiece – for communicating with Plus, who currently resided within the computer on hip – a pair of glasses with a HUD build into the lenses, and finally, her pulse boots.

"How long will the missile take to fly from your place to the Senate?" she asked.  
"Two minutes," replied Snake.  
"I'll tell you when to fire."

* * *

"Analysis complete. Carlyle refueling station is, for its speed, two close to Carlyle."

"Well," muttered Bonerhead, "That _is_ weird."  
"Jenni," whispered Sophia, "Can we get a picture of the cable that's dangling below Carlyle?"  
"Overwatch," said Jenni, "think you can do that?"  
"Capturing image. Displaying image. Picture quality may be compromised by hydrogen, helium, water and ammonium clouds."

The first thing Sophia noticed was the horizon. Back on Helios the curvature of the small planet and her own height meant that the horizon always appeared to be very close. In the _Austraeus_ there was no horizon. On Venice 3, the horizon was still close, but further away than Helios's. Here, the Horizon was ages away, hidden amidst clouds of gas and crystal. One couldn't be sure _exactly _how far away the refueling station was without the familiar reference point, but one thing was sure – here, she felt small and insignificant.

The next thing she noticed was the station itself, orbiting high – and yet, somehow not high _enough_ – above the planet, a dark steel parasite daring to suck blood from the behemoth that was Carlyle. Enormous steel girders held even _more_ enormous fuel tanks together, like grapes on a very symmetrical, artificial grapevine. In some places, flat platforms of metal connected the girders – bridges preventing their occupants from falling upwards into a higher orbit.

_Somehow, this station is in an orbit too low,_ thought Sophia. _Which means they'll have a kind of artificial gravity up there. The whole station is acting like a giant centrifuge. _

_So how is it staying so low?!_

"Overwatch, can you zoom in – wait, no. Could you please take a close-up of the gas pipeline?" she whispered.

"Capturing image. Displaying image."  
"Overwatch, in what direction is the station orbiting?"

"From the West to the East."

_That pipe isn't dangling, it's pulled taught! And it's dangling westward…_

"Overwatch… could there be something pulling it down?"  
"Proposal is possible."  
"Hmm," mused Bonerhead. "Unless they're burnin' fuel to keep themselves low, that's the only possible explanation."

"Wait, hold on," said Jenni, hand massaging her temples. "You're saying that there's something _else_ underneath the cloud layer?"  
"Yeh," answered Bonerhead. "Orbitin' slower than it should be. It should be fallin' to a lower orbit, while the station should be fallin' upwards to a higher orbit. An' that pipeline is holdin' them together."  
"Pipeline?"  
"The gas pipeline," whispered Sophia. "It's probably made out of carbon nanotubes. Strong enough to hold the while station."  
"So… what's pulling the station down?" asked Jenni, dumbfounded.  
"We don't know," murmured Bonerhead. "Nobody does."  
"But," whispered Sophia, "In order to counteract the refueling station while remaining above the Carlyle's metallic gas layer, it would have to be big."

And then, Sophia remembered something.


	28. The revelation

"Well," said Menelaus, "It's only fair that I introduced myself. I am Styx Menelaus, one of the senators of Venice 3."

Bruce, Gauntlet, Cornerstone, Crossguard and Hilt sat on plastic chairs in separate cells, deep underneath Venice 3's Senate building. The four spec-ops soldiers said nothing, as was their training.

"Could you tell us why you've kidnapped us?" asked Bruce.

"Ah. Not a kidnapping, I assure you," said Menelaus, licking his lips. "That was an arrest. Made without the knowledge of the rest of the senate."

Eight guards stood around the room. The same eight men had 'arrested' Bruce and his comrades just hours before, on Menelaus's orders.

"I," Menelaus began, "saw the _Shikinami_ jump in over Venice 3. Curious as to what such a big ship could be doing here I paid a man named Lucian Jzaque to pose as a trade-hoarder. Sure enough, not all the traders from the _Shikinami_ stayed with him. _One_ such trader from the _Shikinami,_" Menelaus pointed at Crossguard, "purchased a carbine. I tracked you down and hired my own private investigator to tail you.

She managed to intercept some messages you sent on some comms probes," Menelaus grinned. "And those messages seem to suggest that you five are agents of the IMC, a crime punishable by death."

_Shit,_ thought Bruce. _He knows!_

Now, I'm gonna offer you all a deal. The first one of you to give me a written statement that the TKY _Shikinami_ is actually an IMC-affiliated ship goes free. Paper and pencils are under your chairs. Think about it, gentlemen. You've got a day till your execution."

Menelaus strode out of the room, grinning wildly.

Bruce slumped on his chair; looked down at the ground.

_Zeta._

_It was you._

* * *

"Jenni," asked Sophia timidly, "can I, um, make a suggestion?"

"Yeah," sighed Jenni, "go for it."  
"I think we should continue in our current orbit, below Carlyle's gas," began Sophia.  
"Wehl, thats' a given, yeh," said Bonerhead.

"Our current orbit should slowly bring us closer to the gas pipeline," mumbled Sophia. "If we can get close enough to the pipeline we could move up towards the station using the pipeline as cover. They won't want to risk shooting the pipeline because it keeps them tethered in their low orbit."  
"Overwatch, you got that?" asked Jenni.  
"Affirmative," displayed the monitor. "Adjusting trajectory for Carlyle's gas pipeline."

* * *

Zeta strode through the front door of the senate, hands in her pockets, stroking the B3 Wingman concealed there. Made a beeline for the administration desk – and muttered, "now," to the microphone on her earpiece.

"Missile away. ETA two minutes, Zeta."  
"Hello," Zeta smiled at the receptionist. "I was supposed to come in earlier today for jury duty, but I couldn't make it in time."  
The receptionist raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? There weren't any trials scheduled for today."

_Just as I thought. Menelaus probably doesn't even plan to put them on trial._

"I received a letter. Like, a paper letter," said Zeta, eying the twelve guards in the room and the R-101C carbines held motionless in their hands. "Think there might be any records of that somewhere?"

The receptionist groaned audibly. The senate kept physical records of physically-sent messages – such as letters – in a filing room.

"I'll have to search through the filing room for you," grumbled the receptionist. "I'll be a minute or two."

"Thanks," smiled Zeta sweetly, waiting a second before following the receptionist. Not so close that the receptionist would notice her, and just close enough for the guards to think that the receptionist _wanted_ her to be following.

"ETA one minute," said Snake in her ear. "I hope you're ready."

Zeta flicked the safety off of her Wingman, flashed her eyes over the guards as she rounded a corner, still following the receptionist. Let the smile slip off her lips.

"Forty seconds, Zeta. If you want me to abort it's now or never."

She ducked into an office away from the receptionist, saw a woman sitting behind a desk begin to stand, as if to say, "excuse me, what are you doing here?". Out came the Wingman and the woman stopped in her tracks.

"Shh."

The woman gasped.

"How do I get to the cells under the senate building?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," whispered the woman.  
"Then your life is worthless to me."  
"Wait! There's an elevator that accesses floors that I don't have clearance to..?"

"Where's the elevator?"  
"Down the end of this corridor, take a right, then another right, then a left."  
"Thanks," said Zeta. "Now, I want your ID."

The woman threw Zeta a card.

"Amanda Graves, huh? If you value your life, you'll keep quiet about this."

"Brace for impact," warned Snake, "in eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, MARK!"

There was a dull thud.

Then there was an explosion, a sharp, piercing noise that pierced the ears.

Then there was the rattle of debris and the wailing of alarms and men and women and children and the calls of the guards and the patter of feet running to the back entrance of the senate.

And Zeta was off, sprinting through corridors amidst the confusion. She took a right, then another right, then a left, and then there was an elevator. She waited for a second; heard the _Ding!_ of the doors and ducked out of the way. Four guards leaped out; Menelaus in their midst.

_That son of a bitch,_ thought Zeta with a snarl. Lowered her head, becoming just a figure in a hoodie and jeans. The only odd thing about her was that she wasn't running and screaming like the other civilians were after Snake's missile hit; and the four guards surrounding Menelaus had more to worry about than just a girl in a hoodie.

She waited a second; dashed into the elevator before the doors closed, slammed her fist onto the lowest button on the elevator's control button. Turned to face the now closing doors, pushed her hands into her hoodie's front pocket. Held her Wingman in her right hand as the elevator began to drop below the ground, accelerating downwards, then slowing, then stopping.

Doors opened; a guard glanced at her. Did a double-take.

"Hey, Ma'am. Are you -"

She shot the man once in the chest; once in the head and he dropped like a stone. Two more guards spun to face her, four bullets burst out of her hoodie's pocket and found their marks.

_Sorry,_ she thought, striding forward, pulling the Wingman out of her pocket in her right hand, loading the pistol with her left. Caught a bullet with her vortex shield from a fourth guard, flung it back in the unfortunate woman's chest and she screamed as the plasma turned his armor and ribcage to molten flesh. A shot to the neck put her out of her misery and sprayed blood onto the wall behind her.

Zeta kept moving.

A fifth guard raised his carbine to his eyes and she shot him in the leg; grimaced as he fired twice. Two bullets caught her in the shoulder and she felt her reactive armor harden, stopping the bullets.

_That's gonna bruise._

The man struggled to his feet and she punched him once in the head, dropping him to the ground. She placed her foot on his head and clicked her toes. Pulse rockets fired, kicked her foot upwards, punched a hole through the man's skull.

She rounded a corner into a small room. Four guards stood in a line at the opposite end of the room - this time prepared, R-101C's already at the ready.

_RATATATATATATATATATATATA! w_ent the carbines.

_Foompfoompfoompfoompfoomp _went her vortex shield as she pushed her left shoulder in front of her. Jets of plasma shot through her hoodie's arm, charring the fabric, swirling into a shape dictated by the electromagnets that her arm held.

Her foot slipped backwards a centimetre and she grunted under the force of the barrage. The vortex shield was doing its job, but it couldn't keep this up forever.

"20%," said Plus in her ear. "Warning. 17%."

With a yell she launched the plasma at one guard – missed, too – and rolled to the left, behind a concrete pillar that held up the ceiling. Bullets grazed her right leg, under-armor stiffened to soften the blow.

"Plus, their distance."  
"Twenty metres. Vortex shield recharging. 19%."  
"Damn. On three, Stim me.

"Affirmative. Vortex shield 21%."

"One."  
"23%. Enemies approaching; 17 metres."

_I can hear their footsteps,_ thought Zeta. _I can hear them breathe._

"John, take the left. Lisa, the right," said one of them. "Lets kill this fucker and make it home for pizza Tuesday!"

A pang of guilt shot through Zeta's heart.

_The lives of the innocent, huh?_

"26%," said Plus. "Enemies approaching. 16 metres. Countdown abortion detected."  
"One."

"15 metres. 27%."  
"Two."  
"28%."

"THREE!" Zeta screamed, rolling out from behind the pillar, drawing her Electric Katana from underneath her hoodie. "COME AT ME!"

Three bullets hit her.

So did the Stim.

Her pulse rocket boots fired once, kicking her to the side, away from the line of fire. The guards turned to adjust their aim – to have their bullets caught by Zeta's vortex shield.

"24%. 21%. 17%."

Her mind raced as she launched the plasma at 'john', blowing a charred hole in his leg and he screamed, dropping to the floor. Her katana crackled, her boots fired again, and suddenly she was upon them. 'John' lost his head; 'Lisa' had a gash cut from her breast to her shoulder. In a last-ditch attempt to save herself 'lisa' lifted her carbine in her right hand to block a fatal slash of her neck, only to be stabbed in the stomach instead. As 'lisa' doubled over Zeta took her head before continuing to the remaining two guards.

The Stim ran out.

One of the guards fired, close range, into Zeta's abdomen and she fell backwards, landed on her bottom as the reactive armor struggled to contain the force of the bullets.

_That last one might have actually gotten through,_ thought Zeta, a dull pain in her stomach.

The man stepped forward to finish her and she thrust her sword upwards, catching his armor, knocking him off balance. She rolled to the side, grabbed the carbine from "John's" corpse and wildly fired upwards, killing the third guard.

Now, only the fourth remained – and he had just leaped back to his feet. Zeta swung her sword but he jumped, saving his legs. Pulled a pistol from his belt and shot at her head three times before dodging quickly to the right.

_He saw my vortex shield coming, _thought Zeta as plasma dripped from a fresh hole in the roof where the man's head _had_ been just moments ago.

"Vortex shield at 15%."

The man backed away, dropped the pistol and pushed a fresh magazine into his carbine before raising it to his eye once again.

Zeta shot him three times with her Wingman.

* * *

"ETA to gas pipeline: 15 minutes," displayed overwatch's monitor.

"When we reach the pipeline," called Jenni, "we'll jump up the pipeline towards the station! IS EVERYBODY READY?!"  
"Yes, Ma'am!" roared the soldiers.

"According to our mechanics, that station is moving too damn fast!" she continued. "The whole station is like a giant centrifuge! So be careful - we didn't plan to do this mission in gravity! DO YOU ALL UNDERSTAND?!"  
"Yes, Ma'am!"

"Good!"

A siren erupted throughout the shuttle.

"What the hell?" muttered Jenni.

"Warning," displayed Overwatch's monitor. "SONAR scans through gas clouds indicate a large metal object hidden beneath the clouds. Avoiding collision. Brace for minor acceleration in three, two, one, mark."

The shuttle began to move upwards ever so slowly.

"How large is the object?" asked Jenni.

"Estimating size of structure: failure. Structure too large to estimate size accurately."  
"Give me your best guess, Overwatch."  
"Structure is approximately 3000 metres long, 500 metres wide and 500 metres high."

There was a stunned silence for a second.

"What in the fookin' hell..." muttered Bonerhead.

"Come _on_," grinned Sophia, shy personality gone. "_Think._ Surely you can guess what this is."

Jenni and Bonerhead looked at her blankly.

Sophia raised an eyebrow.

"How many legacy-class ships were built?"  
"Four," answered Jenni. "We had to study history as part of our Pilot training."  
"Now," said Sophia, grinning even wider. Wilder. "Can you remember each ship?"

"Well, there's the _Austraeus _and the _Dauntless_ – the two legacy-drive freighters, for starters," said Jenni, counting them on her fingers. "Oh, and the Atlas. But the _Atlas _was destroyed. And… last was the _Dawntreader, _the Legacy-class logistics carrier that went MIA."  
"Do you know _how_ the _Dawntreader_ went MIA?"  
"Didn't it approach a gas giant to refuel-"

Jenni's eyes widened.

"I've still got no clue what you two are talkin' about," said Bonerhead.

"No. Fucking. Way," whispered Jenni.


	29. The shit and the fan

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" gasped Jenni.

"I think so," smiled Sophia. "The Dawntreader?"

"But…" Jenni continued, mind trying to grasp exactly what was being implied.

"For those of you who don't know," grinned Sophia, wicked grin flashing eerily over her face as she spoke to the shuttle, "The Dawntreader was a legacy-class logistics carrier. The Austraeus is used to ship things to and from the frontier, the Dawntreader was used to assist other _ships_ warping to the frontier. If the other starships stayed within the Dawntreader's spatial compression, they used to be able to benefit from the Dawntreader's legacy drive. In addition, the Dawntreader could also refuel these ships mid-warp - it was basically a fuel tank, fusion rockets and a legacy drive.

The Dawntreader went MIA 700 kilohours ago. It was last seen headed towards a gas giant to extract tritium and refill its fuel tanks. Based on Overwatch's SONAR scans, Jenni and I reckon it's here, underneath the clouds of Carlyle. I bet _Carlyle_ \- the _station_, that is - isn't doing any fuel refining at all - just siphoning fuel out of the Dawntreader's fuel tanks through that pipeline.

So! The IMC forces at Outpost 207 need that fuel! All we have to do is shut down Carlyle's orbital defences and steal the Dawntreader!"

There was a brief silence.

"Easier said than done," remarked Bonerhead.

"And I can do it," grinned Sophia. "Jenni, I've studied the design of the Dawntreader. If you let me jump out the shuttle when we reach that gas pipeline, I can get inside the Dawntreader and reboot its AI. I _can_ take that starship."

"You sure?"

"Positively."  
_  
The Dawntreader was a Hammond-built starship,_ she thought. _If I get in front of any camera mounted on that ship all I have to do is speak my name and let it see my bone structure and the Dawntreader's mine._

"You guys, on the other hand," Sophia continued. "Should stay in the shuttle and jump upwards towards Carlyle. Disable carlyle's orbital defence railguns, release the gas pipeline and jump back towards the Dawntreader and we've got ourselves enough fuel to power a small fleet."

"And you're sure that hunk of metal down there is the Dawntreader?"

"Absolutely. The SONAR measurements match perfectly."  
"Okay…"

"Now, once we have the Dawntreader, I think we should ditch our original plan. Our soldiers back in the Venice system are probably about to steal the starships from Kodai; in a short while they'll be jumping towards us to fuel the Austraeus's fuel tanks from Carlyle's fuel reserves. I think we should use the Dawntreader to meet them halfway. They'll spot our warp signature and disable their warp drives to avoid a collision with us; at which point we can refuel the Austraeus and jump straight into the Sticez system. Adjust our trajectories slightly and we'll be at Outpost 207. Easy."

"You, ah, seem to have put some thought into it," muttered Jenni. "Okay, I like this plan." She pointed at two soldiers. "You and you. What are your names?"  
"John, Ma'am."  
"Lisa, Ma'am."

"John and Lisa, you're escorting Sophia. Overwatch, how long till we reach the pipeline?"  
"ETA to gas pipeline: Five minutes," displayed the monitor.

"Okay you three. Got your magnetic boots on?"  
"Yes, Ma'am."

"Yes, Ma'am."  
"Yeah."

"Then get your helmets," ordered Jenni. Threw them three oxygen cylinders. "These'll give you six hours of oxygen. Will that be enough?"

"Once we turn the Dawntreader's AI on it should start the life support systems automatically," answered Sophia, pushing her helmet onto her head and connecting the oxygen cylinder. "We'll be fine."

She grabbed her Smart Pistol, checked that the safety was on and that it was loaded before stepping into the airlock with her two escorts. Tapped her radio.

"Can you hear me?"  
"Loud and clear," replied Jenni. "Overwatch, ETA?"  
"ETA to pipeline: two minutes."  
"Good luck," said Jenni. "Alright, the rest of you soldiers! Get your helmets on, too! We'll be under carlyle soon!

* * *

The guard coughed, splattered blood upon the stone floor of the prisons. Crimson dripped from gaping bullet holes in his legs and thighs.

_I'm not gonna live much longer, huh…_

Zeta sauntered over, kicked the carbine from his weak hands. Pointed the Wingman at his head.

"I'm looking for five men who were arrested today."

The guard laughed softly, raised his eyes to look at her.

"And you honestly think I'll tell you?"  
"I'd hoped so, yeah."  
"Too bad," he smiled, the smile of a dead man laughing in the face of his killer. Resigned to his fate, yet determined to take something back.

"I've got a better idea," said Zeta. Pulled a spare can of Stim off her hip.

"You tell me where my friends are, and I'll give you this can of stim. You've actually got a chance of survival if you do."

Another laugh.

"Survival?"

He began to giggle.

"You. Ha. Ha, ha. Do you really think, heh, that I still want to live?"

"Most people do?"

"Not when they have nothing to live for. And you just killed off my reason to live. My happiness."

Zeta put the can back onto her hip.

"Answer me and I'll give you anything you wish for. Survival, Stim - hell, I'll leave you to die alone if you want."

There was a long, pregnant pause as the man thought, high on pain, adrenaline and a lack of oxygen to his brain.

"I will tell you the location of your comrades. After you give me the Stim and that carbine."

"Huh?"

"I'm going to avenge my comrades, killer. I'll give you the location of the five men in exchange for another chance to kill you."

"Very well."

She handed the man the can.

"Do you know how to use it?"  
"Inject it straight into an artery," he said, jamming a needle attached to the side of the can into his armpit, wincing from the pain. Attached the can to the end and pushed down on the button on the top. Watched the yellow liquid shoot into his arm with morbid fascination.

"So this is what it's like being a Pilot, huh-"

His eyes widened as the drug hit his brain.

"Guuugh- AUGGHHHAAAAAA!"

He collapsed onto the floor gnashed his teeth clenched his fists breathed screamed gasped fists clenching forearms rippling legs twitching pain subsiding oxygen returning he stood with blood spurting from his wounds but stopping suddenly as the stim formed clots and he took a step forward his carbine on the floor

"Your friends," he growled, "are in blocks C and D."

He bent downwards fingers touched the handle of his carbine and he pulled it up to his chest flicked off the safety

"Cells C9," he continued raggedly, "and D1 through 4."

"Thank you," replied Zeta sincerely.

"Die, bitch." He muttered raising the carbine upwards taking aim and Zeta's head filled the scope and his fingBANG THwummmm

Ba-dum, Ba-dum, Ba-du

Zeta stood over the man's corpse - now with one more Wingman wound than before - and continued through the underground prison.

* * *

Bish opened his eyes. Found himself sitting at a desk - _huh, so there's gravity here _\- in front of a computer.

_Am I in a centrifuge?_

"Hello, Bish," said a voice from behind him. He turned his head, saw a man standing with his arms folded.

"Oh, it's you, Mr. Ireton."

"Indeed. We're ready to begin testing you now. In a few moments, that computer will be connected to a power source. When that happens, you'll be connected to a replica of Kodai Industries' network; the network we already broke into. We want you to break into the replica's network. Without setting off any tripwires or alarms. Understand?"  
"No. What do you want me to find? You can't just ask me to 'break into their network', any idiot can do that."

"Find us the root password to their network, the launch codes to their starships, hell, I dunno, Kodai's director's infonet mail account. Get into their network deep enough and we'll consider it a pass. But remember - no tripwires, no alarms. If you're the real Bish, you can do this silently."  
"Aw, I dunno abo-"

"Our informants tell us you hacked into OSET in an hour. Quit stalling."  
"Oh, okay. Fine. I'm ready. Turn the computer on already."  
"Not yet," said Ireton. "We'll connect it in our own time."

Bish rolled his eyes. "You Contractors are odd, y'know that?"

* * *

Bruce glared at her for a second, then,

"Hello, Zeta."

A voice of betrayal and disbelief left his mouth.

_I did this, _thought Zeta. _I failed to keep an eye on Plus and it fed Menelaus too much information._

"Bruce," she began, "I imagine you don't trust me too much at the moment."

He raised an eyebrow, motioned to the iron bars of his cell.

"But I'm here to bust you out."

His eyebrows fell into a frown. "Wha-"

"We don't have much time, so I'll explain along the way." She drew back her katana, lined it up with the cell's lock. A sharp clang! later and the long fell away from the deadbolt.

"I'm going to lift this deadbolt up," Zeta said. "And when I do, this door will be able to swing freely. I know that you are an IMC Pilot. You can probably kill me with your bare hands. When I open this deadbolt, I trust that you won't."

He said nothing.

She took a deep breath.

_Those guards did not deserve to die._

_This man does not deserve to be here._

_Menelaus is the problem._

She lifted the bolt, stepped away as the cell door swung open.

Bruce took a step forward. Through the open door.

"Can I have a gun?" he asked. "I heard gunshots earlier and I don't want to be unarmed."

"Sure," she smiled softly, handed him her Wingman. He ran his fingers over the surface.

"This'll do," he murmured.

Zeta frowned and suddenly she was staring down the barrel of the Wingman.

_You saw that coming. Idiot._

"We both know this is loaded," he growled. "And we both know I'll shoot if you do anything funny. I want to know three things, Zeta. Where are my comrades, where is my communicator, and who the hell are you?"

"My name is Zeta," she began. "I'm not a comms pod trader. I am a private investigator, and I was hired to investigate you by a man named Styx Menelaus."

"I know the one," growled Bruce. "Why did you bust me out of here? Why should I trust you?"

She opened her mouth to say something. Nothing came out for a few seconds.

Before this man, she was guilt incarnate. She had wronged him and she had no excuse for it whatsoever.

"I see," he said. "Any reason why I shouldn't pull this trigger?"

"Because I know who you are. And I can help you."

"Really? How, Zeta? How can you help? Because there's a starship up there that Menelaus knows is IMC. It's only a matter of time until he blows it out of orbit with Venice's orbital defence cannons, or tells the Militia to do it for him. What's it's name again – ah, yes. The MCOR Retaliator. What's stopping Menelaus from telling the captain of the Retaliator to kill every man and woman aboard the IMS _Austraeus_? I mean, the _Shikinami?_"

"Nothing's stopping that. But there are a number of actions the _Shikinami _could take to survive."

"Oh?"

"You get me a comms line to your captain and I can tell him or her how to survive an attack from the Retaliator. And an attack from the orbital defences."

"And that is?"

"Its the only thing that's stopping you from killing me right now."

He laughed.

"You're good, Zeta. Cunning. How did you learn to be a Private Investigator?"

"I didn't."

"Huh?"

"I grew up on New Tokyo." She smiled, remembering her childhood. "Those were good days, peaceful days. The first galactic war – or, the Titan wars, if you like – were quieting down.

And then disaster struck. New Tokyo's third Titan division was obliterated by a surprise pirate attack. I was a gymnast at the time… just 140 kilohours old. The Army came to our school looking for potential candidates for Pilots. A field commander saw me prancing along a balancing beam, my parents were forced to sign some kind of confidentiality agreement and the army drafted me into Pilot training.

I was 200 kilohours old when I graduated. And I was 200,010 hours old when I was dishonourably discharged."

She let that sink in for a moment.

"Wait, then -" he began, and suddenly she'd slipped below the Wingman, then to the side, then behind him. Her katana came up to his throat.

"Yeah. I was a Pilot. For _ten hours_. And we really don't have time for this. Lets get your comrades and get out."

She lowered the katana and he turned, looked at her with new eyes.

"You were a Pilot?" he asked, disbelief and shock on his face.

"We really, _really do not have time for this._ Follow me, I know where the other four are."

* * *

"Incoming message from Kodai industries," displayed Overwatch's monitor.

"Put them through. Everyone, shut up," ordered Jaggerjack.

"This is Kodai industries' security office speaking. Shuttle, we have detected your warp signature. Are you receiving this message? Over."  
"Affirmative, Kodai," replied Jaggerjack. "Over."  
"Please identify yourself, shuttle. Over."  
"Fleet manager for the Shibainu corporation," replied Jaggerjack smoothly. "Sorry for the-"  
"Shibainu, you are approaching a restricted area of Venice 7. Halt your warp _immediately._ Repeat, halt your warp. Over."

"Wilco. Sorry, we didn't know. Over."

Jaggerjack muted his microphone. "Overwatch, take those warp drives offline."

"That's okay, Shibainu. You were headed for an airfield where we keep our starships before they're sold. It's a no-fly zone. Please adjust your trajectory by the following coordinates and you'll arrive at our guest landing platform. Over."  
"Wilco. We'll see you soon, Kodai. Eta 30 minutes. Shibainu-1, out."

Jaggerjack turned to face the shuttle.

"Okay, here's the plan everyone! Kodai thinks we've got just one shuttle, while in reality we have two. We're all going to move out of this shuttle and drift into position in front of or behind the other shuttle. Titans included. With me so far?"  
"Yes, Sir!"

"We'll drift towards Kodai's airfield with the other shuttle's rockets off but its warp drives online. Should make it a little harder for them to detect us. Once we hit the atmosphere we're hot dropping through the atmosphere and into that airfield and that's where the fun starts.

The _Shikinami_ has acquired a talented hacker. He can hack into Kodai's network from Venice 3. In order for him to do that, we have to establish a radio connection between him and Kodai by holding some hardpoints. The more we've got, the more connections he can have open to Kodai simultaneously and the faster he can break into their network.

When he does, those starships start becoming ours. We each board the biggest, meanest looking cruiser we can and jump out of there as soon as possible. We jump to Venice 3, pick up the Austraeus, and then warp to Carlyle. With the Austraeus's legacy drive assisting us it should take 40 hours at the most. We get to Carlyle, we refuel, we warp to the Sticez system, surprise the militia and win this damn war. Does everyone understand?"  
"Yes, Sir!"

"Then stick your helmets on and grab an oxygen cylinder."

Aisling grabbed her helmet.

_This is it, huh?_

Back on Brink she'd never even dreamed of doing anything like this. Now she was about to jump out of a starship, drift towards a tiny planet, _drop from the heavens _and steal a fleet of starships.

_Alright, lets do this._

She slid her helmet over her head.

Black, then,

"Hammond Advanced Combat Helmet online," said the words on the high definition screens in front of her eyes. "Loading camera feed… complete. Scanning for additional hardware."

The words disappeared to reveal the view from cameras mounted on the exterior of the helmet. She looked down at her armored legs, saw the helmet highlight her body as blue.

_Friendly, huh?_

"Smart pistol detected," displayed the helmet. "Raise the pistol to your helmet to pair."

The did so, and the helmet automatically connected with the smart pistol. Now, the pistol's would target anything she flashed her eyes over.

"Safety: On," displayed her helmet.

She took an oxygen cylinder from Jaggerjack, clipped it to her back. Fed a hose from the cylinder's nozzle into a port on the side of her helmet.

"Oxygen supply detected. IMC radio channel detected. Connect?"  
"Connect," she said.

"-onna be sending our shuttle towards their landing pad as a decoy," said Jaggerjack's voice. "It means we'll have to leave the shuttle, though."

"I think it could work," replied Rimjob. "Okay, we're ready for you."

"Gotcha. Okay, if you can hear this, put your hand up."

Everyone in the shuttle put their right hand up.

"Good, everyone's connected okay. Okay, we're going to depressurise the shuttle now. Does anyone _not_ have an oxygen cylinder attached? No? Good. Overwatch, save as much oxygen as you can before pressurizing the shuttle."

Three words appeared at the bottom of Aisling's view: "Overwatch: Depressurizing shuttle."

There was a dull hiss from all around Aisling.

Then silence, save for the sound of her own movement. The rustle of her clothing, the tiny rattle of her smart pistol inside its holster, the sloshing sound of her blood moving through her ear tubes…

"Silence detected. Engage comfort mode?" asked the helmet.  
"Yes please," muttered Aisling, sighed with relief as a quiet white noise entered her ears. Then,

"Overwatch, open the shuttle doors," commanded Jaggerjack.  
"Overwatch: Opening doors," said Aisling's visor.

The shuttle's doors soundlessly slid open, deep black nothingness outside. Save for, of course, the other shuttle.

"Alright everyone. Engage your magnetic boots. We're going to pull these titans out of the back of the shuttle."

Jaggerjack pulled himself into the titan bay, unclipped the tie-downs that held the three behemoths in place. With a light push the titans began to drift out of their storage bay - and the shuttle began to drift slowly in the opposite direction.

Danniek flew towards the titans, a jetpack helping him slow the titans to a relative halt. They sat there, weightless machines of war drifting like dandelions on the wind. Except speeding towards Venice 7 at an incredible pace.

"Overwatch," ordered Jaggerjack. "Slowly make burns to move away from us, on my mark. Rimjob, we're ready for you. Move the shuttle over to us, okay?"  
"Auxiliary engines burning, Jack. We're drifting to you now."

The second shuttle began to move towards the three titans, auxiliary engines flaring softly as it made minute adjustments to its course. It stopped a mere five metres away from the first shuttle, ahead of the three titans.

"Rimjob," said Jaggerjack, "We're jumping over to your shuttle now. You might hear a few thumps. Okay, everyone, when you're ready disengage your magnetic boots and jump across to their shuttle. Don't forget to re-engage your boots."

Aisling took a deep breath of her oxygen supply and jumped, body spinning as it drifted through the void, and then her toes kicked back onto the switches in her magnetic boots and she was on the other shuttle's hull.

"Alright, everyone's here," said Danniek, finishing a head count.

"Great," replied Jaggerjack. "Okay, Overwatch. Move away."  
"Overwatch: Accelerating away," said the words in front of Aisling's eyes.

"When its safe for us, jump towards Kodai's landing pad."  
"Overwatch: Jumping in 30 seconds."

"Rimjob, tell your overwatch to engage its jump drives when the other shuttle jumps. Everyone, get behind the shuttle so you're inside its spatial distortion. We wouldn't want to leave you behind.

Everyone good? Anyone _not _good? Fantastic.

We've got six titans - three behind this shuttle and three in the shuttle - and all of our personnel. Now we've just got to steal a fleet."  
"Should be easy enough," replied Rimjob. "Jumping in 10 seconds."

* * *

"Graves," said Menelaus into his communicator. "It's me."

"What the hell is going on at the senate?!" asked Graves. "I'm hearing rumours of a missile!"  
"There was an explosion," replied Menelaus grimly. "And I think I know why."  
"Go on."  
"I believe I have captured five IMC agents, Graves. They were being interrogated below the Senate building. I think someone could have tried to break them out."  
"Wait, _five_ IMC _agents?!"_

"Not sympathisers. Four of them were soldiers; one, a Pilot. I think."  
"Where did they come from?! We're supposed to have the IMC blockaded in the Sticez system!"

Menelaus grinned, even though Graves wouldn't be able to see him.

"I was hoping you'd ask that, Graves. They came from a starship currently in orbit above Venice 3 going by the name of the TKY _Shikinami_."

"Hmm," muttered Graves. "The enormous one, yes?"  
"Correct."  
"Do you know if they're the only IMC personnel aboard? I mean, is it an IMC ship, or are they the only ones?"  
"No idea. And that's the only thing stopping me from firing our defence cannons at that starship. The council won't do anything until we've had a meeting about it, and I'm going to need more than a few intercepted comms pod messages to convince them to give me access to the defence cannons."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"  
"As a matter of fact, yes, there is. If you could convince the _Shikinami's_ captain to let you aboard to speak to her, you could have a poke around and maybe get to the bottom of this."  
"Sounds like a good plan. What's the captain's name?"  
"Captain Nina Soryuu."

Graves froze.

"_What did you just say?_"


	30. The fall

"Your guys are in cell block D," whispered Zeta. "Just through that door. And it's gonna be difficult. I had to fight my way here and I imagine the D block guards have noticed the radio silence by now."

"Probably."

"Yeah. You any good with a Wingman?"

"I'm alright," replied Bruce. "I'd feel better if I had my proper gear."

"Of course. They'll have your things in a locker somewhere."

"Later. I need to get those guys out first."

"Gotcha." Zeta put an ear to the door. "I don't hear anything."

"_Great._"

"I know, right?" muttered Zeta. "Okay, I'm opening the door on 10. Nine. Eight, seven, six, five, four, three."

Bruce raised the Wingman to his eye, ready to fire.

"Two. One, Mark!"

She pushed the door open, tumbled through the open space, threw her vortex shield up. Caught the bullets of a dozen guards who'd all lined up for the sole purpose of filling her with lead.

_Now'd be a good time, Bruce!_

She heard the _pop, pop _of a Wingman firing, and three of the guards dropped. She flicked her shield up, flung the bullets in the face of one of the guards, sidestepped the fire of another guard. Hit her stim button, felt the cold liquid blast through her blood. Jumped, kicked off a pillar that held the roof up, ricocheted into a wall and ran along it, high on adrenaline and stim. A bullet grazed her thighs, ripping through her pants and hardening the underarmor there. Another guard dropped to the ground, a hole the size of a Wingman's bullet replacing a large section of his brain.

Now behind the line of guards and with a recharged vortex shield, Zeta kicked off the wall, somersaulted off a stone pillar, caught and flicked away half a magazine of carbine bullets before decapitating the unlucky man. Her sword flashed through the air, carved its red path through another guard's chestpiece and he fell with a howl.

Just two remained. One dove in toward her, threw a punch but she was already falling backwards of her own accord. A tap of her toes and she was away, rocket boots flaring, catapulting her backwards a couple of metres and out of punching range. She kicked an R101 on the ground and it flipped upwards into her hands. The guard fired – three times, it seemed, for three patches of her underarmor immediately turned to rock in response – as did she, tearing holes through the man's ribs and shoulder. He dropped with a howl and a spray of crimson, to be finished by a shot to the head. The final guard died as his neck snapped – Bruce, it seemed, had left the door's cover.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" he asked, impressed. "They didn't teach us anything like that in the IMC's training program."

"Gymnastics. And a few years' of fighting other Pilots in training matches. We used to fight for our dinners in 16-man free-for alls back on Venice 7."

"Ah. You don't look like you've gone hungry."

_Abort, abort! _Screamed Bruce's brain as he finished the last sentence. "I, uh, well, you must have won some- I mean..."

_Did he just –_ thought Zeta's brain, about the same time.

"Um… well, ah, your guys are just around here," mumbled Zeta, walking around the corner, still not sure that she'd heard Bruce properly.

"Well. Yeah, thanks."

_Idiot,_ he thought.

Four men stood in separate cells, trying to see what was going on just around the corner.

"Hey, everyone," greeted Bruce. "We're busting you all out. Also, Zeta's on our side now."

"Sir, your orders," asked Hilt.

"We're leaving the prison," Bruce replied, shooting the locks off each cell's deadbolt and lifting the bolts off one by one. "Zeta, which way now?"

"Same way I came," she replied grimly. "Where all the reinforcements will be. If there are any, that is."

"_Great,_" muttered Bruce, walking beside her with his four soldiers behind him. "Oh yeah," he said, stooping beside a corpse. "Grab a Carbine. We'll get our R97's back soon enough. I hope."

"_If_ it's safe to do so," added Zeta. "If it's not we're heading straight back to my place; I've got plenty of equipment there. Oh, and a guy called Snake wanted to let you know that he helped me break you out. And, if you need anything to do, he's looking for mercs at the moment."

"We're not mercs," replied Bruce.

"Then I'll tell him that you're not available."

"Good."

They rounded a corner, saw the elevator – the way out – past the security doors and the administration desk.

"It's quiet," murmured Bruce.

"Too quiet?" asked Zeta, eyebrows raised.

"An ambush isn't impossible, that's all."

"When we get out of the elevator, yes," said Zeta, rolling her eyes. Strode up to the elevator, pressed the button to call it before ducking to the side.

A second later the doors opened. Nobody inside.

"We can't just, y'know, _get in_ and hope nobody's ambushing us," frowned Bruce. "What are you gonna-"

Zeta pulled a frag grenade from her pocket, pulled the pin as the doors began to close, and tossed it inside. A display above the elevator doors – now closed – changed from a B to a 1. She waited, heard a dull _Thud!_ before pressing the button to call the elevator a second time.

"Well, I guess that works," muttered Bruce.

"I'm going to put up my vortex shield the moment these doors open again," said Zeta. "You're going to shoot any ambushers. We'll only have a few seconds to do it, though."

"That's okay," nodded Bruce. "We can pull it off."

Behind him, his soldiers nodded.

"Okay," said Zeta as the elevator doors opened. "Then-"

"GET DOWN!" roared Bruce, diving at her.

_RATATATATA-_

The entire section of underarmor covering her back hardened all at once and she fell forward under a barrage of gunfire and a heavy weight landed on her back and then a sharp pain splintered through her back and then the gunfire stopped and the weight was saying, are you okay and she was moaning in pain and someone was pulling off her sweatshirt.

"Zeta," said Bruce carefully, "can you hear me?"

"Yeeessss..."

"Who am I?"

"Bruce," she hissed through teeth clenched in pain.

"Zeta, you've been shot. Four times, in the right side of your back. Your armor stopped most of it."

"Ahhhhghghghh..."

"We're going to hit you with a double shot of stim. Are you ready for that?"

"Yeaaahahh," she groaned. "Wait, waaah?"

"Three, two, one," said Bruce, and then the stim hit her, first in the arm and then everywhere else and someone was screaming and the pain hit like a wave of cold and then a wave of burning hot and then the cold hit again.

* * *

"ETA to pipeline: 10 seconds," displayed Overwatch's monitor. "Warning. Brace for acceleration in 5."

"10 seconds," relayed Jenni through the radio. "You three ready?"

"Mark," displayed Overwatch, and the shuttle began to slow.

"No," replied Sophia. "But to hell with it. Oxygen's coming through, radio's good… Let's do this."

She hauled herself out of the airlock, tapped her toes upon the switches in her magnetic boots and felt her feet snap to the shuttle's hull. Saw the two soldiers follow her out, boots hitting the hull a second after hers, dull thuds echoing through the hydrogen and ammonia.

"We're out, Jenni. It's kinda hard to see, though."

A crystal of ammonia drifted past her visor.

Directly in front of the shuttle loomed the pipeline, disappearing into the clouds above and below. Above floated the station. And the orbital defenses. Below lurked the _Dawntreader._

She hoped.

Sophia began to move towards the end of the shuttle closest to the pipeline. Reached out a hand and touched it.

_Carbon nanotubes, huh? Unreactive. Strong. Lightweight. Perfect for holding the station and the Dawntreader together._

_And for sliding down._

There were smaller cables beside the main gas pipeline; cables that Sophia now wrapped her arms around.

"We're dropping, Jenni. Take Carlyle for us, okay?"

And with that, she jumped. Disengaged her boots, started hauling herself down the cable. The two soldiers followed her.

"Once we get low enough," she said to the other two over the radio, "Gravity will start pulling us down towards the _Dawntreader_. It's being held up by the cable. We're not. So get ready to slide."

* * *

"Overwatch: ETA to Venice 7's surface: 5 minutes," displayed Aisling's visor. "Warning. Brace for atmospheric entry. Warning. Brace for atmospheric entry."

"Pilots, to your Titans," ordered Jaggerjack. "We're going in hot."

"Coming," replied Rimjob. The shuttle's airlock opened and he clambered out, made his way to his Titan. The metal behemoth, floating just behind the shuttle.

"Won't we burn up in the atmosphere?" asked a worried soldier.

"That only happens when you've got orbital velocity, which we don't. We're just falling, not traveling sideways at a few kilometres per second," explained Aisling. "We'll be fine.

But we might make a few sonic booms," she added as an afterthought."

"Hadn't thought of that," muttered Jaggerjack. "Shit, that could attract enemy attention."

"Too late to worry about it now," replied Nathan. "Ooh, can you guys feel that?"

Aisling could. The feeling was faint, yes – but it was definitely there. _Air _pushed upwards upon her chest. Slowing her down. Heating her up.

"I'm in my Titan," reported Rimjob. "Feels good to be back."

"Same here," said Danniek. "Keep her in low-power mode?"

"Affirmative. Low power it is," answered Jaggerjack, the entry door to his Titan closing and sealing. "We're turning these things on when we're one minute away from the ground and firing the rockets at 20 seconds. Okay, everyone out of the shuttle."

"Overwatch: depressurizing shuttle," said the words at the bottom of Aisling's visor. A few seconds later, the shuttle's doors opened and ten soldiers floated out.

A second later three dormant titans drifted out of the shuttle, followed by five soldiers.

"Overwatch," said Jaggerjack again, "Take the second shuttle – the one closest to me – and put it into orbit in one minute's time. I want to be able to evac if everything goes wrong."

"Overwatch: Command set. Entering orbital trajectory in 54 seconds."

"Good. Okay, everyone. Your overarmour has rockets built into it, they'll slow you down when we get close to the surface. You know the drill. Feet first, three burns, bend your legs. ETA to surface?"

"Overwatch: 3 minutes."

"Good. _Shikinami_, do you copy?"

"Loud and clear, Jaggerjkack. Our hacker's ready to go."

"Alright," muttered Jaggerjack. "We're all set."

The atmosphere pushed back upon Aisling much harder now. She fell, arms and legs outstretched in a star, wind rushing past her helmet.

She could hear again. Hear things outside the helmet. The silence of space was no more.

"Overwatch: the first shuttle has arrived at Kodai's landing pad. Warning. Hostiles on approach. Warning. Connection to first shuttle lost. Presumed destroyed."

"So they saw through the ruse, huh?" growled Jaggerjack. "Alright. Titans, online!"

Aisling turned in mid air, looked above her. Saw the Titans come _alive_.

Their reactor vents began to glow. The blue lights in their 'eyes' flickered on. And their joints began to move.

Six gentle giants of destruction, each armed to the metaphorical teeth. Four Atlas-class Titans and two Ogres. Two plasma railguns. Two X0-16 chainguns. And two 40-millimetre cannons.

"Safeties off, gentlemen," called Jaggerkack. "Weapons code green."

"X0-16's online," grinned Rimjob. "Can I do a magazine check?"

"That would be unwise," muttered Jaggerjack. "Railgun's good. Danniek?"

"40mm's online and connected to my Atlas. She's ready."

"Good. ETA to surface?"

"Overwatch: Eta to venice 7: 60 seconds. All personnel, please note. Initial armor rocket burns in 20 seconds."

"_Shikinami_, this is Jaggerjack. We're touching down in 60 seconds. Make sure your hacker is ready. Over."

Below her, Aisling could make out the shape of a shipyard. There was a flat concrete plane, open to the sky and filled with starships. There were at least three cruisers, long rectangular things lined up side by side, with smaller ships filling the shapes in between. Each had a bulge in the middle of them, maximizing the size of each cruiser's fusion reactor. Four triangular-shaped protrusions jutted out from the sides, each serving as a housing for the cruisers' rockets.

The bow of each cruiser widened out into a large borium shield before narrowing back into a point, like the head of an arrow. The three were painted black against the gray ground. Almost a kilometre long and bristling with heavy railguns, designed for obliterating enemy battleships. Their rears each housed three small fusion rockets; their curved bows served to stop incoming enemy fire in its tracks.

Between the cruisers lay frigates and corvettes, black and grey balls and dots in between the larger starships. The shipyard itself was walled off by four concrete calls; in the center sat a single two-story building with a radio dish on top.

"Overwatch: ETA to venice 7: 30 seconds. Titan rockets burning in three, two, one, mark."

Aisling heard a rumble. The fact that she could hear it over the sound of the wind scared her, and she was glad the Titans were on her side.

Plumes of flame erupted from each of the six Titans' backs and they kicked backwards into the air, beginning to slow towards a safer landing speed.

"Overwatch: ETA to venice 7: 23 seconds. Personnel rockets burning in ten seconds. Feet first."

Aisling pointed her feet together, aimed her legs towards the fast-approaching ground. From this distance she could make out people on the small planet below.

_They're about to have a bad da- augh!_

She gasped as rockets in the sides of her chestplate erupted, knocking the wind out of her lungs.

She began to slow.

One of the people on the ground looked up.

"Overwatch: ETA to venice 7: 10 seconds."

Her rockets began to burn harder; brighter, slowing her down even further. Still too fast for landing safely.

Beside her, thirty soldiers' flicked the safeties off their assault rifles.

And then she hit the ground, legs bent, and the people who had been on the ground before dropped in a hail of gunfire.

"Hardpoint to your left, Aisling!"

"On it!"

The Titans landed with earth-shaking impacts, kicking plumes of dust into the air. A second later, weapons came off their backs and into their metallic hands. Three titans, three auto-titans, 30 soldiers and three civilian mechanics. Here to steal a fleet.

"_Shikinami_, we're on the ground! Hotdrop successful, repeat, hotdrop successful!" yelled Jaggerjack.

An icon appeared on Aisling's visor, marking a hardpoint inside the two-story building. A computer linked to both Kodai's network _and_ a radio dish capable of connecting to the _Shikinami_. She sprinted towards it, Smart Pistol in her right hand, data knife in her left. A man stumbled out of the building, saw the six Titans, and exploded into a cloud of blood and flesh as Danniek hit him with a 40mm shell.

_I know what to do! We did this kind of thing in training!_

She tossed a frag grenade through the door of the building, ducked to the side of the door, heard the explosion and whirled into the building.

Her visor drew an orange line around a man lying on the floor, legs minced by the shrapnel that had torn through them. With a howl, the man threw his hands above his head and Aisling realized that she'd pointed her Smart Pistol at him on reflex.

_I did this? Just then?_

An IMC soldier shouldered her aside, slammed the butt of his carbine into the injured man's face with a crunch – and her helmet stopped drawing an outline around the man.

"Get your data knife into the terminal, Ma'am!"

_Wha- this- I?_

"Snap out of it, Ma'am!" The soldier pushed his visor up, grabbed her shoulders. "Hey, are you okay?"

She stared dumbly into the soldier's eyes. Her helmet visor painted a blue outline around them.

_A friendly, huh?_

She pulled her mouthpiece away from her face, vomited the contents of her stomach onto the ground beside the dead man. Tried to suck air into her lungs, choked and coughed, spluttered. Pushed her mouthpiece back over her mouth, breathed deep. Her mouth tasted like acid and the meal she'd eaten aboard the shuttle. She struggled to her feet.

"Ma'am, try not to think about it," said the soldier. "Everyone's first is their worst."

_That man was alive a minute ago,_ she thought dumbly. _And then I showed up._

She plunged her data knife into an appropriately-sized port on the hardpoint computer and a second later the screen flickered on.

"Hardpoint online," she mumbled over the radio.

"Hardpoint online!" called Jaggerjack. "_Shikinami,_ get your man on it!"

* * *

"Alright," said Ireton to Bish suddenly. "Computer's all yours."

Bish sat up straight in his chair, cracked his knuckles, pulled the keyboard towards him. Grinned as the screen lit up, then,

"Only one access point? That's no fair."

"We might give you access to more if you seem to be doing alright," said Ireton mysteriously. "But for now, make do with what you've got."

"Oooo-kay. Synchronizing feed with- oh, is this a virtual hardpoint or something?"

"That's correct."

"Huh. So I'm seeing everything _you guys_ saw when you cracked into Kodai."

"That's correct."

Bish shrugged, fingers flying over the keyboard as he reached deep into space, the hand of a god come to play with the network of mortals.

* * *

"ETA to Carlyle, Overwatch?" asked Jenni, thumbing the safety of her G2A4. Feeling its shape, preparing to flick it off in a moment.

"Overwatch: 66 seconds," displayed the words at the bottom of her view in her Visor.


	31. The Scouts

"Warning. You outnumber enemy Titans six to one. Six to two. You outnumber them six to two."

Danniek's gaze flicked across his Atlas's display to the radar, saw the familiar red glow of an unidentified high-heat source. Just hot enough to be the exhausts of an enemy Titan's reactor.

"Jaggerjack, two enemy Titans five hundred metres out! Over the north wall! Over!"

"Copy. Yeah, I see them too. Seems like they're Stryder-class. Scouts."

When a single corporation exclusively owned an entire celestial body, it was often extremely expensive to build defences all over the surface. The easiest way to defend one's investments on such a large area was often to build an orbital defence platform to cover the skies, and use a mobile attack force to wipe out landing parties. Kodai's command centre would have detected the IMC on their radio scanners, and by the looks of things had sent a scouting party to investigate the uninvited visitors.

"I'll hold them off," called Danniek. "Veronica, stick my other Titan into guard-mode."

He flicked his left leg backwards; kicked his right forward and the Atlas followed suit, turning its enormous legs to the left, hauling its torso around atop them. With a flick of his right middle finger the 40 millimetre cannon's safety was disengaged, with a curl of his toes and a lean of his torso the Titan began to storm forward, ground shaking underneath it; with the rocking of his shoulders and the movement of his legs the Titan began to sprint.

He was Danniek no more. Now, he was the Titan, man of steel, heart of stars.

Danniek the Atlas dropped his left shoulder and continued _through_ the concrete wall surrounding this particular shipyard. 28 tons of steel becoming a nuclear-propelled wrecking ball. Saw the Stryders coming over another wall in the distance and wished he hadn't gone on his own.

"Jaggerjack, I'm gonna need some help..."

"What's the matter?"

"Two Stryders _and three Paladin-class lightweight battle tanks_. Not sure if I can handle _that_ many."

"On my way," replied Jaggerjack the Ogre.

"Attention, enemy Titans and Paladins!" growled Danniek the human into a microphone.

"ATTENTION, ENEMY TITANS AND PALADINS!" roared Danniek the Atlas at the Stryders and Paladins, voice rolling across the concrete. "Enemy Titans, surrender immediately! Lay down your weapons and power down! You will not be asked again!"

"Fuck off," came one reply, a few seconds later, similarly bellowed at the volume of a small rocket engine. "This is our land."

The other reply came in the form of three shots of a Paladin-class lightweight battletank's main gun, all of which Danniek's shield redirected with a crackle of electrons and a rattle of his Atlas's chassis, tossing Danniek about within.

"Warning. Critical damage. Recommend regen."

"I know," muttered Danniek the human. Danniek the Atlas fired a shot back, retreating back through the hole he'd made in the wall before dashing behind it, curled into a crouch. Saw Jaggerjack the Ogre.

"Behind here," Danniek the human radioed, motioning to the wall with his left thumb.

"Gotcha. The Aussie manoeuvre?" suggested Jaggerjack the human.

"Sounds about right."

"Let's do it. Three. Two. One. Mark."

Danniek the Titan rose to it's feet again, shield reservoir now full of ions salvaged from the Atmosphere, 40 millimetre cannon now fully loaded, dash rockets now ready to fire once again.

Dashed to the side, then forward through the hole in the wall. Sidestepped to the right to avoid the Paladin fire, ignored the chaingun fire now rattling across his shields. Danniek the Atlas broke into a full sprint towards the rightmost Battletank, Jaggerjack the Ogre just behind him. The two stryder Pilots had different ideas, and one dashed to the left, one dashed to the right.

The Aussie manoeuvre was designed to allow an agile unit to take on a larger force comprised of slow units and more agile units. By presenting an opportunity for a flank, the attacking force would bait the agile enemies into leaving their slower units behind. If the attacking force could get amidst the slower units the agile enemies wouldn't be able to attack due to fear of hitting their own forces.

"Keep going," ordered Jaggerjack, catching a Quad rocket's rocket square in the chest. _Must have been modded to be rapid fire. _"They're trying to flank us. Plan's working so far."

"Shield at 30%," reported Danniek. "100 metres."

He saw the Paladins' cannons rotate towards him, fired a shot from his own cannon at the tanks. _Explosion should obscure their optics for a second_.

The tanks fired anyway, tore through his shield and put a sizable dent in his chest armor, but it was too late. Danniek was almost atop them, mid right-step. Twisted his torso, flicked his left foot around, now facing the other way. Up went his vortex shield and he caught some of the enemy Stryder's chaingun bullets.

For the Paladins, however, this was the end. He took a step backwards, then another, placing all of his 28 tons upon the rightmost Paladin's hull and it began to buckle under his weight. Pulled his left arm downward and released the vortex shield's stored projectiles into the Paladin's hull, shot a round of his 40mm cannon through the hole.

"One Paladin down."

He took a step backward, expecting to land on the next Paladin but instead found concrete. Flicked his eyes to the left, saw the two tanks mid-retreat. Felt the enemy stryder continue its' chaingun fire.

"Warning. Critical damage. Recommend regen."

Danniek the human rolled his eyes in annoyance. Danniek the Atlas fired a cluster missile at the remaining two Paladins before stepping off the destroyed paladin, grabbing its underside and flipping the lightweight battletank onto its side as a makeshift shield.

"Where are ya, Jaggerjack?"

"Back a bit. Aussie maneuver's gonna work here, Danniek. Engage as you see fit. Over."

* * *

A hundred metres behind Danniek Jaggerjack the Ogre dashed backwards to avoid the punch of the enemy Stryder, deployed its particle wall to block the Stryder's quad rocket fire. It dashed to the right, then right again, now beside the particle wall and Jaggerjack the human swore in annoyance before launching two uncharged plasma railgun shots into the stryder's chest. It responded with a third dash – this time directly at Jaggerjack the Ogre – and unleashed a cloud of electric smoke and a barrage of rockets.

Jaggerjack the Ogre leaned foreward, threw a punch and hit nothing but smoke. Walked to the side, taking a bolt of crackling electric smoke along the way. Deep inside the cockpit, Jaggerjack the human's eyes flicked across his display. Titan shield core charge time remaining: 30 seconds.

"Alright," he muttered, bringing the railgun to Jaggerjack the Ogre's eyes. Spinning the flywheels, charging the coils. "Let's see how you like this."

The enemy Stryder dashed in again, ducked under the charged railgun shot and landed a punch on Jaggerjack's right flank, followed up with three rockets directly to Jaggerjack's optical sensors. Jaggerjack's screen flickered green as two of his cameras went offline. The Stryder dashed in for another punch -

Jaggerjack the Ogre leaned forwards and swung its plasma railgun like a baseball bat, the block of titanium lacerating the enemy Stryder's armour. It stumbled backwards, panels of armour tearing away as the pilot inside clawed at his eyes.

_He flinched, _thought Jaggerjack, pulling the triggers for his shield core.

And the internal pressure within Jaggerjack the Ogre's reactor _doubled_. The power of the stars, shackled within his torso. His reactor vents began to glow orange; his shield ports opened wide, sucked in electrons faster than before. In an instant, Jaggerjack's shields were back online; a second after, it was overcharged. He dropped to his knee, stabilised the railgun and began to spin its flywheels. The enemy Stryder fired a salvo of rockets in desperation; Jaggerjack the Ogre made no attempt to avoid them.

Unleashed a bolt of plasma directly into the enemy Stryder's torso, stripping it of its shields and dropping its hull integrity to half.

"Now you die," Jaggerjack the human growled, tapping his ordnance control button. Pointed his left fingers at the enemy titan, locking on a single guided missile, then another, then three, four, then five. Drew his fingers into a fist, confirming the lock, before punched skyward to indicate a launch direction. Jaggerjack the Ogre's multi-target missile pod responded, catapulting five missiles into the air. The Stryder attempted a dodge as the missiles dove downwards. The missiles missed. Jaggerjack's railgun didn't.

* * *

Danniek focused his entire attention towards the chaingun-equipped Stryder on the other side of his makeshift shield. His cluster missile was still reloading; his vortex shield was low…

_Fuck it, it's a Stryder. With an X0-16. I can take it._

He stepped out from behind the Paladin-shield and fired five shots. Two shots connected with the Stryder's torso, one slammed into the Stryder's left leg, and the remaining two shots missed entirely after the Stryder dashed to the side.

He adjusted his aim, shoulder joints rattling as electric motors dragged the cannon into a new position. Continued firing. The next shot took the Stryder's shield down.

_10 left,_ he thought, and was confirmed when flashed his eyes along the Titan's display. _Oooh, cluster missile's up._

He advanced toward the Stryder, firing his cannon the whole way. Hit another six shots, flicked a cluster missile ahead of the Stryder and scored a few hits.

It fired back, and Danniek caught the chaingun bullets with his vortex shield, hurled them back at the Stryder. They were all it took to cripple the machine. It stumbled, left leg falling from its' torso, and in that moment the Pilot inside ejected sideways through the air, throwing an arc grenade at Danniek to spite him.

"Jaggerjack, we're done here," radioed Danniek the human.

"Copy that. Rim, we're coming back to you guys now."

"You better hurry," growled Rimjob. "I just picked up six heat signatures. Hot enough to be Titan cores."

"Here come the defenders, huh?" muttered Jaggerjack. "We're on our way. Danniek, those guys were just the scouts. The real battle starts now."

* * *

"Nghhh…"

Zeta opened her eyes, saw the interior of her hoverbuggy. Outside buildings zipped past. She rubbed her eyes, winced at the pain in her back.

She was sitting on one of the rear seats -

"Oi, Zeta. You alright?"

She looked to her left, saw Bruce's worried face looking back at her.

"Yeah… ugh, my back hurts though."  
"No wonder. You've just had a stem-cell shot, so you're stable at least."

"Great. Wait, where are we going?"

"We asked your AI where you'd like us to take you after we got out of the prison. Plus told us to head to your hoverbuggy, then instructed us to enable the autopilot."  
"Fair enough… Plus, where are you going?"  
"We are headed for one of Snake's hideouts."  
"Good. Plus, have you told Snake that we're going there?"  
"Affirmative."

She sighed, fell back into her seat and closed her eyes.

"Wake me up when we get there."  
"Gotcha," she mumbled.

Sleep came for her in an instant.

* * *

"Captain Soryuu, we're receiving a hailing signal," called a comms technician. "We're not sure of its origin."

Soryuu glanced at Vice Captain Roberts.

"You've done a fantastic job so for, Captain," he smiled. "And we'll be off to Carlyle soon. This call is your decision."

She nodded, once at Roberts, and once at the comms technician.

"Patching the signal through now," said the technician.

"Hello, Captain Soryuu," said the voice of Marcus Graves. "Still with the IMC?"

Soryuu froze.

"Look, I know you're there. I can hear the sounds of the bridge through the microphone."

"Wha- I- well, that is," she stuttered, "I'm with New Tokyo's fleet now. Fancy meeting you here, Graves!"  
"Cut the crap, Soryuu. I remember teaching you in navigation class so I could get my command licence. You were the best navigator in the class."

"Well, that was a long time ago-"

"As you're probably aware, I'm field commander of the Militia's Marauder CORps. I've got some questions to ask you. I've also got the entire Militia fleet above this planet locked onto the _Shikinami_, so I suggest you come over to the retaliator to answer those questions. I'll see you in an hour, Captain Soryuu. Graves, out."

The entire bridge was silent, all eyes on Soryuu.

She stared at Captain Roberts, eyes pleading for help.

"He wants to speak with our captain," she croaked. "And he knew. Knew that we were here. How the hell did he know?"

* * *

"I've just spoken with the Captain Soryuu of the _Shikinami_," said Graves to Menelaus. "I'm meeting with her aboard the _Retaliator _soon."

"Meeting?" asked Menelaus. "Hmm. If you can find out more about them that would be great. Once we've gleaned every bit of information out of them that we possibly can, we blow them out of the skies."

"Menelaus, are you sure tha-"

"With all due respect, Graves," said Menelaus passionately, "we _must _eradicate the IMC. They're a threat to the peace we've managed to build up."

"You're right, of course. I only wish we could resolve this war without having to fire upon a ship of civilians. I recognise that starship. It's a superfreighter. Half the crew are probably civilians they hired at their last port."

"Sacrifices have to be made," sighed Menelaus.

* * *

"ETA to carlyle refueling station: 45 seconds," displayed Overwatch's monitor.

"Alright, everyone!" roared Jenni from inside her Titan's cockpit, in the bowels of the shuttle. "This station's acting like one giant centrifuge right now. It's too low for its speed! There's going to be a kind of gravity when we land! IS EVERYONE READY?!"  
"YES, MA'AM!"

"Depressurise the shuttle, Overwatch!"

"Depressurising shuttle," displayed Overwatch's monitor, and Jenni's helmet's oxygen supply began to kick in. "Depressurisation complete. ETA to carlyle: 20 seconds!"

"Open the shuttle doors!"

The shuttle's doors slid open and the soldiers aboard the shuttle caught a glimpse at the enormous refueling station. Above loomed Carlyle. A few metres below lay the refueling station.

The station skeleton was comprised of enormous beams of titanium, criss-crossing sporadically to hold up equally large slabs of aluminium. Huge spherical fuel tanks lay amidst the titanium skeleton, storing the station's plunder siphoned from the _Dawntreader _below. Walkways large enough to hold the weight of three bulldozers. As evidenced by the three bright yellow bulldozers lined side by side upon one such walkway that lead from the base of the gas pipeline to a large building located on the far side of the station.

_That walkway probably leads to their command centre, _thought Jenni. _That's why they've blocked it._

The gas pipeline connected with the station just below them, entering through the roof of a rather sturdy-looking building. Smaller pipelines snaked out of the building, heading in all directions towards the spherical fuel tanks in the station. Chances were this building held up the entire station. Or rather, held _down_ the station, stopping it from falling _up _away from Carlyle into a higher orbit.

And they were landing atop this building in five seconds.

"Standby for Titanfall," muttered Jenni, leaping from the rear cargo bay of the shuttle and landing on the building's roof with a silent _clang!_

For out here, in the vacuum, even the Titans were silenced.


	32. The defenders

Many apologies for the slow update and small chapter. It happens to be exam season at the moment.

* * *

Zeta awoke to find the hoverbuggy slowing. Blinked. Looked around the hoverbuggy, saw the four men with her. Something struck her.

"Hey," she mumbled through painkiller-numbed lips. "Weren't there five of you?"  
"Hilt's in the boot," replied Bruce. "How are you feeling?"  
"Pretty shit," she grumbled, mind foggy and slow. "Are these smart painkillers?"  
"Yeah, your AI told us you'd prefer them. I would have stuck you on some psychdust and let you sleep."

"Nah, I hate the stuff." She reached towards the seat in front of her, struggled against her seatbelt for a second. Managed to grab a hypodermic needle within a medical kit in the seat's pocket, switched the needle's payload for a yellowish liquid and injected it into her arm. The pain in her back and the feeling in her limbs began to return, her head began to clear.

"We have arrived at our destination," said Plus. Zeta opened the door on her side of the buggy and lurched out. Her jeans were still on; but her hoodie was nowhere to be found. Black underarmour covered her torso, scratches adorning its surface. She'd ordered the reactive armour only a month ago and never really needed it; now, holes filled its back. The four men inside the hoverbuggy opened their own doors; a fifth clambered out of the storage compartment in the back.

Zeta stretched and felt the fresh scars in her back before leading the men down a narrow side street.

"Plus," she said, "You there?"  
"Affirmative."  
"Park the buggy, please."  
"Parking."

She stopped, in front of a small door built into one of the walls of the street. Knocked three times, paused a second, then knocked once.

The door swung open of its own accord, an electric motor whirring quietly in the background. She stepped inside. While the outside of the hideout indicated nothing special about the building, Snake had taken special care while building his 'home away from home'.

In the event that some other gang came to attack his main house, he could be out of the house and in a hoverbuggy zipping through the streets of Alpha within three minutes. In another five, he could be at any one of his four hideouts - each designed to be luxurious and impenetrable backup bases from which he could continue his black market operations. Zeta had only been able to open this door because one of the three cameras mounted outside had confirmed her identity. The outside walls _appeared _to be made from nuclear iron and concrete and were actually lined with three centimetres of composite ballistic armor. The undersides of the fake wood dinner tables was lined with borium, allowing the tables to be flipped on their side to serve as shields. The light bulbs could rotate and strobe to blind attackers. The second story of the hideout covered the two entrances - the door Zeta had just entered, and a sliding, bulletproof glass door to a small garden on the other side of the house.

Luxurious and impenetrable.

Her communicator buzzed.

"Hey," greeted Zeta, bringing it to her ear.  
"Hi- fuck, Zeta! What happened?!" gasped Snake.

She glanced behind her at the camera mounted above the doorway. "Got shot in the back a few times. Feeling a little better now."

"I can get a doctor to have a look at -"  
"Nah, I'll be fine." She waved at Bruce and his soldiers, inviting them inside.

"So these are the mercs you told me about," said Snake. "Which one's the Pilot?"

"The one in front," replied Zeta. "Look, Snake. We need to lay low for a day or two. That's okay, right?"  
"Knock yourselves out. Food's in the fridge, you can see the kitchen from where you are. Guest bedrooms are upstairs, pool table and guns are in the basement. _Do not _go into my room and _don't touch my Forerunners 2 save. _We clear?"  
"Snake, I don't even know what Forerunners 2 _is_."  
"Its… its a simulator game -"

Zeta rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I'll probably just sleep… anyway, thanks for the help, Snake."  
"Don't mention it. I'll see you later, Zeta."  
"You too."

Zeta ended the call, slipped the communicator back into her pocket.

"Guest rooms are upstairs, guys. Make yourselves at home."

Bruce nodded. "Okay, I'll make contact with the _Shikinami_. Hilt, explore the house. Make sure it's secure. Zeta, is there anywhere we can store our weapons?"

"Yeah, downstairs in the basement."

"Gauntlet, check our weapons. Cornerstone and Crossguard, you can get some rest. Zeta, I'm not your superior or anything… but if I were you, I'd get some sleep."

Zeta glanced at the time on her communicator's screen. "18:12, huh? I think I will. Good night, everyone."

She began to walk up the fake wooden stairs -

"Aw, _fuck_," muttered Bruce. "Your orders? Copy that. Seven hours, I think. Wilco. Bruce out." He turned to Zeta. "I've got some bad news, Zeta."  
"What now?" she asked, head turning, hand on the handrail.  
"The Militia know that our starship's here, and they've got their railguns pointed at us. We can't warp out without them firing at us. We've been ordered to stay where we are and await further orders."  
"Shit," Zeta muttered. "Well, what can we do?"  
"We can wait. We can negotiate. We've got a trump card up our sleeves, we just need to wait before it gets here."  
"What do you mean?"  
"Lets just say we've got reinforcements. We'll stay here tonight, but my soldiers and I need to be ready to go it a moment's notice. This might be the last time we see each other."

Her heart sank. "Really? Why?"  
"If we get an order during the night, we'll have to go immediately."  
"No. You wake me up and I'll come with you."  
"Zeta, you're injured -"  
"I was a Pilot," she smiled, though tired eyes. "I'm used to dealing with it."  
"Zeta, if you don't mind me asking, why are you helping us?"

Silence. Then, she turned. Sat down on the stairs.

"When I was 120 kilohours old the Titan wars were just beginning to die down. The New Tokyo military got cocky and one of their fleets jumped into an ambush. Would have gone okay if the jump technician hadn't of panicked. Instead of waiting it out, suffering a few blows and jumping back to safety the technician told the fleet to jump before it had finished turning around. Next thing you know, the fleet's gone along with an entire moon out in the Polaris system.

So the generals back at New Tokyo decided they needed to train some new Pilots. They _did_ lose fifty of them aboard the Yamato. They turned to the schools of Ichi Toshi - our 'Alpha', if you will. One Colonel showed up at my school. Saw me doing gymnastics and drafted me into Pilot training.

Of course, my parents said yes. They didn't have a choice. It is an honor to serve as a Pilot. So I went off to train in New Beijing, because of the treaty there."

Bruce was silent, so Zeta continued.

"Soon enough I'm 175 kilohours old, veins loaded with stimulants and drugs, mind filled with countless hours of training and theory. The call came out. There was a riot in Shì èr - ah, 'Beta City' in New Beijing. Guerrilla soldiers, desperate to prolong the Titan wars, had attacked a district, and the people were trying - trying to climb the walls into the next district, to get away... I was called in with nineteen of my squadmates. To kill everyone, rioting civilians and guerrillas alike.

And I did. We did. Those were orders. I crush - crushed - a fam - a fami - fam -"

Zeta grunted, coughed. "A family," she spat, "under my feet." She laughed, a sad laugh that sounded more like a snort. "They didn't scream. If they did, I didn't hear them. I mean, I barely felt the crunch in the cockpit."

Her head drooped, her fists clenched.

"After the massacre we went back to the training camp. The higher ups congratulated us. Well done, they said. Your first mission! What a success! They clapped and this general gave a speech. It was the Colonel. The one who had drafted me, the one who ripped me from my family, who'd given the order to wipe the district _to see if we were ready_, who'd called me into his qua-"

She scowled for a second, eyes staring at the stairs full of rage as she grit her teeth.

"_In any case_," she growled. "He'd been promoted. And as he stood there, I decided I'd had enough. Enough of the bullshit, the tests, the experiments. That night he called for me again, and I came. And I shot the bastard's dick off, watched him bleed out. 10 hours, Bruce. That's all that had passed since the massacre. I was a Pilot for 10 hours and then I legged it.

Now, you ask me why I want to help you. Because _every single government that's out there is fucked._ The Asian Coalition? Fucked. The Militia? Fucked. I imagine the UN back on Earth is fucked. Venice 3 is about to get fucked by the Militia. The IMC's fucked too, except they're less fucked than the rest. They do their shit by the book, and if anyone can bring order to these frontier rocks its them. They've got the strength and they've got the technology. That's why."

"Zeta," began Bruce, "the IMC isn't perfe-"

"They're better than the rest," growled Zeta. "Besides, where else am I supposed to go? They probably know it was me who broke you out of prison. I'm going to bed now. If you get the call tomorrow, wake me up."

* * *

"Six Titans," said Rimjob, pointing with both Human and Titan hands over the south-east wall of the airfield. "No Paladins this time."  
"Titan classes?" asked Jack, flicking his eyes upwards, enabling his Ogre's radar display. "Three Atlas, three Stryders. Although..."  
"I'd say four Atlas; that signature at the back'll be bigger than it looks. It's moving at Atlas speed. Wait, hold on. Is that-"  
"A seventh heat signature," mused Jack. "Far too small to be a Titan."  
"Some sort of armoured car," muttered Rimjob. "For enemy infantry."

"Great," growled Jack. "IMC infantry, come in," he said, tapping a button on his gauntlets. "There are six enemy Titans and one unidentified armoured vehicle approaching. Take cover, find somewhere safe to hide. I want Aisling, Bonerhead and Phillip sheltering it the hardpoint. I want five soldiers in there guarding them and the hardpoint. The rest of you, make it rain archer heavy rockets. Rim, you're on the armoured vehicle. Shoot the driver, shoot the occupants when they come out. Set your Autotitan to follow me. Danniek, I want you to take those Stryders down ASAP."  
"Gotcha."  
"They'll be breaking through the wall surrounding this airfield any moment now, but we'll only see them when they come around that cruiser," said Jaggerjack, metal arm motioning to the enormous starship lying on the ground, five times taller than each Titan. Beside the cruiser lay a multitude of Corvettes, Frigates and Destroyers, available for purchase.

"We can use the destroyers as cover," he contined, Jaggerjack the Ogre taking a step forward towards a destroyer lying on the asphalt. Crouched behind it.

"Heat sensors say they just broke through the wall," muttered Rimjob the Human, Titan form moving towards a destroyer of his own. "Sid, follow Jaggerjack."  
"Follow mode initiated on allied Pilot."

"Jack, the enemy heat signatures have breached the wall surrounding the airfield. They're behind the cruiser now. We'll have LOS in ten seconds."  
"Gotcha."

Rimjob the Atlas pulled its XO-16 into firing position, aimed it at the edge of the carrier. Rimjob the Autotitan followed suit.

"Five seconds," counted Rimjob. "Four. Three. Tw- THERE!"

Six titans - four Atlas-class and one Stryder-class - stepped out from behind the cruiser, leaned forward and _sprinted_, metal feet shaking the ground from 400 metres away. A small armoured vehicle trailed behind them, hidden in a mass of Titan legs.

Then the firing started.

A deafening volley of railgun, 40mm and chaingun rounds _erupted_ from the six IMC Titans. A second later the enemy fire arrived, tearing holes in the asphalt and ricocheting off Titan bodyshields.

"Critical damage," said Danniek's AI sweetly. "Please, take care of yourself."

Danniek the Titan hastily ducked behind the Destroyer it had been using as cover, allowed its shield systems to suck in ions from the atmosphere, replenishing its shield reserves. His Autotitan was not so lucky, armour dented, punctured and melted, legs flaming.

"ARCHERS! FIRE!" roared Jaggerjack, slowly retreating behind a destroyer of his own, dropping a spent magazine from his plasma railgun, slamming a replacement into its slot.

A volley of archer heavy rockets screamed through the air and impacted against the hull of the closest enemy Stryder, now just 200 metres away. The Stryder tripped, and for a second it looked as if it could recover before Rimjob the Atlas headbutted it and fired a burst of chaingun fire directly into the Stryder's torso and it exploded.

"One down!" he roared, grin wide on his Human face.

"ONE DOWN," bellowed Rimjob the Atlas, legs coated with some unknown red liquid. "YOU ARE NEXT."

"Warning. Taking fire," announced Jaggerjack's AI. Jaggerjack's screen flashed, returned to the camera feed from the Ogre he manned. Red damage indicators flashed from below, and he looked down to see the enemy armoured vehicle at his feet. The seventh heat source took the form of a Samson-class Assault truck, the damage took the form of a man spraying his legs with fire from a chaingun mounted on the Samson's roof.

"WARNING. ENEMY VEHICLE MUST POWER DOWN OR FACE IMMEDIATE DESTRUCTION," bellowed Jaggerjack the Ogre, kicking the vehicle onto its side, tossing the soldier manning the turret away from the truck.

The remaining five enemy Titans arrived at the destroyers and took cover. A lone cluster missile caught Jaggerjack's Autotitan, dropping it to half of its hull integrity.

"Rim, retreat to us," ordered Jaggerjack. "The Samson's down."

"Gotcha," replied Rimjob the human as Rimjob the Atlas activated its vortex shield and began to retreat.

* * *

Aisling peered out a window of the hardpoint building, trying to see the chaos unfolding just outside. She was only two stories high; the destroyers were too tall for her to see over.

Her gaze wandered elsewhere.

_The enemy Pilots will probably be trying to get to this hardpoint and shut it off if they can,_ she thought, _but if they get desperate they'll probably just shoot the radar dish on top of this building. Kodai command is probably treating this as some sort of test. _

And just like that, she saw it.

The Samson Assault truck.

It had a chaingun mounted on the top.

_That's probably mounted to a universal rotating mounting port. _

"Nathan!" she yelled over the gunfire, "You know the radar dish on this hardpoint?"

"The one that's keeping us connected to the _Shikinami?"_  
"Think we could mount it atop the Samson? If that Samson's linked into Kodai's network, we could use it as a mobile hardpoint! Beats waiting for the dish to get shot!"

* * *

Author's note:  
Yesterday, a friend of mine who can't stand losing got into an argument with me. He claimed that not many people read SecondConquest, and that the ~150 page views I get each time I post a chapter are because of people browsing the Titanfall subreddit and clicking out of curiosity.

To prove him wrong, I need you to do me a favor. Look down below. There's a box for reviews. If you enjoy SecondConquest, PLEASE leave a review. It doesn't matter what it says, as long as you leave one. You don't have to be logged in to leave a review.

I've done a plan for the next five chapters ahead of time, so hopefully the next chapter won't take so long.

Thanks for reading!


	33. Hammond

Author's note: Mini chapter below. The story will continue soon, I promise!

* * *

He awoke. Heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing, smelt nothing.

There, a pinch of pain. He tried to squirm. Some part of him further below stung for a second, burned hot like a gas pipe on a stove. He tried to speak, tried to cry out. Some part of him was stuck, unable to call out.

His mouth. Yes, that was the word. And tongue. Why couldn't they move? And for that matter, why couldn't any of him move?

A light shone from in front of him. A sound echoed. Faint, but definitely there. He tried to wriggle.

"...mulan...feec... ke…" came the sound.  
"Eheameye," gurgled his frozen voicebox.  
"-AKE! ...Nsno, leep hetanig!"

His eyelids flickered open and he _burst_ out of the cryofluid like a dolphin through the waves. Strong arms caught him and he fell onto the ground, spluttered, choked. Vomited a torrent of cryofluid and perfluorocarbons, gulped down a breath of dry air. Tried to pull himself to his feet and collapsed.

"Help," he croaked. "Help."  
"Breathe," ordered a voice. "You've been asleep for a long time."

He did as he was told. Let his stomach rise and fall, lungs inhaling and exhaling for the first time in… well, for him, minutes. For the rest of the world, however…

He opened his eyes, sat up, blood flowing through his naked body once more, heart beating strong within his chest. He was in a white room. White tiles, white walls, white lights of sorts installed in holes in the white roof. Beside him was a cryochamber, cold gas streaming from its sides.

"Welcome to the land of the living," said a man in a white biosuit. "I'm Dr. Jones. Can you remember who you are?"  
"Not yet," muttered the man from the cryochamber. "Everything's so…"  
"I understand. You're Richard Hammond the first." The man gave him an injection of a bluish liquid.  
"Hu- yeah, that's right," winced Hammond, feeling the needle. "It's starting to come back to me now."

He caught a glimpse of his greying hair in a mirror - or was it one-way glass?

"Sir, you've been in cryo for a while now. A lot's changed since you went under. First, we're going to immunise you against all the diseases, viruses and bacteria that have evolved since you went under. New strains of everything, you see."  
"Right. Why do you need me, though?" asked Hammond, pulling on a pair of trowsers Dr. Jones handed him.  
"Hammond Robotics' main contractor, the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation, has just received word that a militant force has destroyed their main refueling base, Demeter. The whole planet, gone, just like that. A nuclear chain reaction in the planet's core."  
"Wha- wait, what?"

"It is as I say, Sir. In any case, the IMC and Hammond need your help. The only way we can make it to the frontier in any reasonable stretch of time is if we have starships with Legacy drives. The problem is, Sir, you only made four of em. Two went down with their ships-"  
"The Atlas," muttered Hammond, stroking his beard. "I remember _that_ one."  
"I see your memory is returning," smiled Jones under his visor. "Please, follow me to the immunisation chamber."

"You were talking about Legacy drives?"  
"Indeed," replied Jones, talking as they walked. "The Dawntreader went Missing In Action eight hundred kilohours ago. The Austraeus-"  
"Wait. Kilohours?"  
"It's too impractical to measure time in years, so we measure time in thousands of hours. Roughly 80 years."

"_Eighty years?!_" gasped Hammond. "How long have I been in cryo for?!"  
"One and a half million hours, Sir. I mean, one hundred and seventy six years."

Hammond stopped. Processed.

"So I'm 62 biologically. And…"  
"Rather old, by everybody else's standards. You have great-grandchildren now, Sir."  
"Huh."

"Please, take a seat," motioned Dr Jones, and Hammond sat down in a large chair that reclined backwards.  
"So, Legacy drives?"  
"Hammond Robotics and the IMC need to be able to reinforce the frontier, Sir. But we only have one Legacy-drive equipped starship, the Dauntless. If we want to be able to retake the frontier, we need more Legacy drives. Now, if you don't mind, please hold out your right arm."

Hammond did as he was told, and Dr. Jones inserted an I.V. drip into his arm.

"In a moment, my colleague will begin immunising you. As this is a somewhat painful procedure, we'll also be administering some general anesthetic. When you wake up again, there are some people who'd like to meet you."  
"Who? The world thinks I'm dead."  
"You'll meet them soon, Sir. Sweet dreams."

* * *

"You gave him the drugs?"  
"Yes, Sir."  
"Good. I don't trust the old man. Keep him monitored at all times."  
"Yes, Sir."  
"Damn, Jones, it's a good thing we got that Comms probe when we did. The only probe to make it out of Demeter. According to the black box, it nearly collided with the _Austraeus_ along the way. Thanks to this, we can prepare a counterattack, crush the puny militia beneath our feet, and rule the frontier once again. We just need those Legacy drives."  
"Understood, Sir."

"Hell, I only wish we had a Gate and a Run to use. Ah well. Hey, Jones. What do you think the _Austraeus_ will be doing now?"  
"It's most likely that they will have been identified and destroyed by the Militia forces, Sir. That's where I'd put my money."  
"Huh. Care for a wager, Jones? I dunno, I've just got this hunch that maybe, just maybe, they'll have escaped detection. Survived. I'll put ten thousand credits on it. You?"  
"I'm not a betting man, Sir. I'd prefer not to."  
"Aw, come on. Thousand credits to my ten thousand?"  
"Very well Sir. Ten to one says they don't survive."

* * *

Author's note: You may want to read the start of chapter two again.


	34. The Samson

Author's note: I AM SO SORRY FOR THE LACK OF UPDATES! Please, forgive me! I've had exams!

Also, here's Kodai, drawn shittily from above. You'll have to rearrange the link - do this by removing all the $ dollar signs.

http$:$/$/$imgur$.$com$/bCSXG2R

* * *

"Six on five!" laughed Rim. "We got this!"

"My Autotitan is low, though," muttered Danniek. "Don't get cocky. Vanessa, set damage tolerance to 20%."  
"Damage tolerance set to 20%. Passive mode initiated."

"We can't hold them off forever," Danniek said to Jaggerjack. "Even if we take these titans down, Kodai can just send in more!"

"I know, I know. But we have to stay by the hardpoi-"

"Oi, Jack!" yelled Nathan over the radio. "I needs a boost!"  
"What?"

"Down here!"

Jack the Ogre looked down at its feet, saw a tiny man standing there waving up at him.

"Can you get me to the top of the hardpoint building? We think we can install the radio dish on top of the Samson!"

Jack thought for a moment, then,

"Danniek, hold position for a few more minutes. We might be able to leave here after all!"

Jaggerjack the Ogre bent low, extended an enormous steel left hand to the tiny figure at its feet. Nathan jumped on board and the Ogre rose to its feet again, twisted its hips and turned. Back to the enemy it advanced to the hardpoint, raised its arm and hand.

"You good?"  
"Yeah," came Nathan's voice through the radio, climbing off the Ogre's hand and onto the roof of the hardpoint. "Switching back to private channel. Aisling, these are 20 millimetre screws. Six of 'em."

"Same down here," grinned Aisling, leaning against the roof of the Samson next to the soldier guarding her. "We just need to get the dish down here."

"_Without _breaking it."

"A titan could do it," muttered Aisling. "And we need to push the Samson back onto its tyres. Hey, sorry to bother you guys again -"  
"Make it quick Aisling," Jaggerjack growled, gritting his teeth as a burst of electrons redirected an incoming plasma railgun bolt.

"We need the Samson flipped back upright and the radio dish lifted on top of the Samson. ASAP."  
"I'm on it. Dann, Rim, hold em' off till then!"

The Ogre that was Jack lay its Plasma railgun onto the ground and gripped the side of the Samson. Stood there for a moment, then hauled the truck back onto its tyres, hull creaking from the exertion. Aisling threw the door open with excitement, then stopped in her tracks. Saw the six Kodai soldiers inside.

Three were dead; there was no doubt about that. They hadn't been wearing their seatbelts when their truck had been thrown onto its side. Now, their skulls lay cracked, blood and brains and bone dripping from their helmets.

Two were unconscious. One would be paralysed for the rest of his life, neck bent at an impossible angle. The other was either knocked out or pretending to be. He breathed, at the least.

One was awake, groaning in pain, broken arms trying to unclip her seatbelt. She coughed once, and blood splattered onto the seat in front of her. She turned, looked straight at Aisling, and for a moment her eyes pierced Aisling's helmet and heads up display and stared straight into Aisling's soul.

_Why?_

Aisling stood, like an engine thief caught in a guards' spotlight, as an IMC soldier pushed her aside, shot the six Kodai soldiers and dragged their corpses out one by one.

* * *

Sophia's feet hit _something_ with a clang. She released the gas pipeline, rolled to the side. A split-second later the two soldiers hit the ground where she had been.

_Now then. I've got to get inside the Dawntreader, huh? I have allies with me. I could open a cargo bay by lasercomming a cargo bay door's sensor and giving it my name. So long as I'm careful those two soldiers won't hear anything. Ugh. I'll have to get really close to a door sensor; the Comms won't work is these clouds. _

_I could just ditch those soldiers here. The clouds will prevent their calls for help to Jenni and the team up above. Nobody would ever know. Then again, once we're in the Dawntreader, I can off them any time I want to. I'll keep them alive for now. _

She brought her hand to her helmet's visor and squinted, even though she was protected from the elements. The winds were too strong to be merely shrugged off.

"If I remember the plans correctly," Sophia muttered to her companions, "then there should be a cargo bay in the hull somewhere near. Get down and follow me."

The three began to crawl - as was the only way to move - over the top of the starship's hull, pulled downwards by Carlyle's gravity and kept up by the pull of the gas pipeline. Sophia could barely see a metre ahead of her. By some miracle the laser communicators still worked through the ammonium fog - and then, she saw it. A ridge in the hull. An entrance. If, that is, the _Dawntreader's _AI decided to open said entrance. If it were even functional after all the hours the _Dawntreader_ had spent here.

She felt around the ridge, an enormous rectangular dip in the hull that housed a sliding airlock beneath it. She began to crawl around the ridge, feeling for the bowl-shaped protrusion that she was certain she would find. _There!_

"Okay everyone, see this dip in the hull?"

"Yeah?"  
"Its actually an airlock. I'm going to see if I can open it. Are either of you on the airlock? Because we don't know how deep it'll be when it opens. And I don't want you guys falling."

_Actually I wouldn't mind too much._

"Give me a second," requested one of the soldiers. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Okay, lets see what I can do."

With a flick of her eyes, Sophia opened her communications menu and found the recipients section. Swapped it from allied - automatic targeting to manual targeting before blinking at the protrusion. The laser communicator receiver.

And then she spoke. "Hello? Anyone there?" she asked, her laser communicator turning her speech into bursts of light that flashed into the protrusion.

"Stimulus detected," came a reply at the bottom of her monitor. Not speech. Text. "Boot sequence initialised. Auxiliary power at 38%. Attempting to boot onboard AI. Error. Insufficient power. Attempting to engage Fusion reactors. Error. Insufficient power. Attempting to engage Fission reactors. Success. Fusion reactors online. Reactors at 25%. 50%. 75%. Fission reactors critical. Fission reactors now at maximum power output. Auxiliary power at 09%. Charging Auxiliary batteries. Auxiliary batteries charged. Charging Fusion flywheels. Fusion flywheels at 2%... 2.5%... 3%..."

"Ooookay," muttered Sophia. "I think I just woke it up. But it'll take a while for the Fusion reactors to power on."

"Your orders, Ma'am?"

"We stay here and wait."

* * *

Nathan pocketed the last bolt out of the universal mount atop the hardpoint.

"I'm ready," he grunted, taking the weight of the dish. "Jack, when you get the chance…"

"Give me a second," muttered Jack, dropping a particle wall before him. "Danniek, the Atlases near you are getting cocky."

"That's 'cos they've both got their damage cores ready," muttered Danniek the human. "And my Autotitan's not too healthy - HERE THEY COME!"

"Aw, fuck," muttered Jack.

The two enemy Atlas-class Titans broke out of cover with a single dash and fired a volley of 40mm cannon fire upon Danniek's position. Danniek the Atlas fired a single cluster missile, felt its shield die, ducked behind its destroyer. The Autotitan beside him staggered under the 40mm fire and exploded, shrapnel and armour flying apart and tearing into the Asphalt.

"Friendly Titan down."

"FUCK!" screamed Danniek. "Five on five!"

"We can still do this," growled Jack. "Hold your position."

Danniek the human saw an extrapolation of the enemy Atlas's health displayed on his monitor.

_Three quarters._

Emboldened by their allies' success, the _other _three enemy titans broke from cover and stormed forward, 40 millimetre cannon projectiles tearing through the vacuum toward the IMC. They were met with two cluster missiles.

That didn't stop them from returning fire, however. Jaggerjack caught the worst of it, exposing his back to the enemy to protect the radar dish in his arms. Four shots obliterated his shield, a fifth and sixth tore through his already damaged hull.

"Hull critical," he grunted from inside the cockpit. "My Titan's doomed."

His leg buckled under a burst of chaingun fire and he sunk to his knees, lowered the dish to the ground, rolled to the side.

"Punching out," Jaggerjack grunted.

"Dish secure," called Nathan over the radio. "I'm jumping down now!"

"Four on five," muttered Jaggerjack, hurtling into the void high above the battlefield, drawing his charge rifle and firing a bolt of light into the shields of an enemy Atlas. "Hard D, everyone! Jeeves, get me my second titan!"

"Follow mode initiated. Extrapolating landing position."

The four remaining IMC titans began to retreat, dropping particle walls and vortex shields to minimise the damage they took.

* * *

_Why? Why am I here? I'm a mechanic. I can't fight. I… People died! And this was their land! Their planet! What… What the hell am I doing here?!_

"Ling?"

_Why the hell did I even leave ho-_

"Aisling! Snap out of it!"

"Huh?"

"I need you!" called Nathan, motioning to the radar dish. "Now!"

* * *

"Connection error?" asked Bish, fingers suddenly coming to a halt. "What the hell?"

_This wasn't part of the plan,_ thought Jack Ireton, eyes scanning the message on Bish's monitor. "Hold on a second. Stone? You there?"

The reply came through his headset. "I can see the problem and we're working on it. We've completely lost connection to the Kodai hardpoint. Try stall for a minute, we think we'll have it fixed by then."

"Gotcha," replied Ireton. "Bish, we're hosting the Kodai test on a virtual server on another starship. We've just had another starship break our laser communications and we expect to have communications back within a minute."

"Riiight," said Bish. "Wait. Hold on. Surely I've convinced you I'm Bish by now. I mean-"  
"You've thoroughly convinced me," interrupted Ireton. But the higher-ups… Well, they've got plans for you. And they have to be absolutely certain that you are Bish. That's why they want you to do this."

Bish rolled his eyes, sighed.

"Can I at least call home? There are people who'll be wondering where I am."

_Sarah._

"When we're done here, I'll see what I can do," lied Ireton.

* * *

The autotitan was 50 metres below. 40. 30. 20. 10 -

It spun on its legs, extended an arm towards Jaggerjack. Caught him, metalic fingers wrapping around his body. It sunk downwards, opened its entry hatch and tossed him inside, locked restraints over his arms and slid joysticks towards his hands.

"Control transferring to pilot."

* * *

"Are you okay?"

She looked up at him, eyes blank, cold and hard.

"I'm fine," she said monotonously. "What needs to be done?"

"Well, um - are you sure you're fine?"  
"Yes."  
"Oookay-"

"GET MOVING, MECHANIC!" roared a soldier, tossing the spent shell of an archer heavy rocket aside and slamming a fresh rocket into her launcher.

"Yes, Ma'am," muttered Nathan, offering a hand to Aisling and pulling her to her feet. "Let's get this thing on the roof of the Samson."

She nodded.

* * *

"Connection restored," displayed Bish's screen.

"Looks like we're good," remarked Ireton. "You know what to do."

"Resuming," muttered Bish. "I think I'm nearly done."

* * *

"Samson's ready!" called Nathan over the radio. "It's the hardpoint now!"

The assault truck, much like the hardpoint building, had a connection to Kodai's computer systems. The hardpoint building was a hardpoint because the radio dish atop its roof allowed the _Austraeus _to communicate with Kodai's servers, using the hardpoint building as a relay. Now, the Samson would serve the same purpose.

"Everyone, we're getting the hell out of here!" roared Jaggerjack, absorbing and redirecting a volley of quad rocket projectiles. "Retreat to the west wall! Rimjob first, then the Samson. Danniek and I will bring up the rear! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!"

* * *

"This way," ordered Jenni. "That building looks like a command centre for Carlyle's defences. I'll move the bulldozers, you guys take down their defences! Got it?!"

"Yes, Ma'am!" roared her soldiers, leaping out of the shuttle onto the building below beside the gas pipeline.

_No signs of movement,_ thought Jenni. _Yet._

She took a step forward and dropped off the building her Titan was standing on, landed on a platform of aluminium. The whole station was held together with metallic scaffolding; the fuel tanks and refineries vital to the station's operation sitting amidst the scaffolding like flies in a web. Just in front of her was a wide metallic walkway, seemingly built for heavy duty. Three yellow bulldozers blocked the walkway. Three yellow bulldozers would have to be pushed off the walkway and out of her path.

She turned her eyes skyward at the planet above her. It loomed in space, so far away and yet so massive. A starship hid under the gaseous surface. Three of her soldiers - well, two soldiers, one civilian - were trying to board it.

Then, movement. Out of the corner of her eye. She turned, saw the turret pop out from the roof of a small silo to her left.

"CONTACT, EIGHT O'CLOCK!" she roared.

"Opening fire!" roared Bonerhead, leaping from the shuttle, dropping to one knee and firing the archer heavy rocket in his hands. The rocket leaped silently from the rocket launcher and promptly careened into the silo just below the turret.

"Huh," muttered Bonerhead. "Soh, looks like I' go' some calibratin' to do."

"Do it quick," growled Jenni, firing a volley of 40mm cannon rounds in the turret's direction. The first hit the silo too low. The second was hit by a burst of anti-personnel fire and detonated in mid air. The third, aimed higher than Jenni would have normally aimed, struck its barrel.

"I'm on the bulldozers, everyone!" she roared, enormous left arm of steel motioning to her soldiers to follow her. "Down this walkway! Now! LETS DO THIS!"

With a roar, her soldiers leapt onto the walkway and charged towards the bulldozers alongside her. And then,

"Contacts! Two, three, and ten o'clock!" roared one soldier.  
"Aim high!" ordered Jenni, a single guided missile leapt out of her missile pod and planted itself in the base of the first defence turret. She reached the line of bulldozers and began to push the first bulldozer. "Protect me!"

* * *

Rimjob the Titan dropped its shoulder and burst through the West wall, strewing concrete and iron bars upon the ground all around it.

The Samson was just behind it, full of soldiers, Nathan, Phillip and Aisling. Behind the Samson stormed the three remaining Titans, trading fire with the Kodai Titans that were now actively pursuing them.

Around 20 people in overalls looked up from the welding, hammering and wiring they were doing.

One screamed.

"The atmosphere muffled our approach!" laughed Rimjob, unleashing a volley of missiles upon the now fleeing engineers. "Jag, it looks like we've found where they assemble the damn starships!"

"Okay," repled Jaggerjack, preoccupied with the Titans following them. "Danniek, cluster the fucker!"

"On it!"

"Ahaha!" cackled Rimjob, spraying bursts of chaingun fire into the fleeing engineers, who had now dropped everything they were doing to focus on running and hiding.

"Wait, wha- RIM, DO NOT ENGAGE! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" screamed Jaggerjack. "They're unarmed!"  
"Ugh. Fine." Rimjob's firing ceased as he took a left down a road between two two-story buildings. "Seems to be some sort of warehouse up ahead."

"Keep moving! Just take us anywhere that seems safe, there can't be too much longer to go before their network belongs to us!"

"Right-o."

The four titans stormed down a thin road, enclosed on both sides by two and three story high buildings for housing workers or manufacturing parts for Kodai's starships. In the middle of the four drove the armoured Samson, packed full of Soldiers and the three civilians that travelled with them. Four soldiers crouched in the truck's bed, firing upon anything that appeared hostile. The radar dish, now mounted on the roof of the samson where a minigun had previously resided, beeped occasionally. The Kodai radio inside the truck provided a direct connection to Kodai's communications network. And therefore, provided a way to hack into Kodai's parked starships.

"We're taking a left up here!" called Rimjob. "Heading for the warehouse!"  
"Roger!"

From inside the Samson, Jaggerjack saw an engineer fire a handheld rocket directly at Rimjob the Atlas.

"THEY'RE ARMED!" laughed Rimjob the Human, unscathed. "I can fire back now, right?!"

His XO-16 chaingun began to spit bullets once more, shell cases cascading out of his weapon like a waterfall. He passed an intersection in the road - and took an arc cannon shot to the legs.

"DAMNIT! Enemy Arc cannon to the left!"

A second later Danniek sprinted through the same intersection, bringing up the rear, and planted a 40mm cannon shot in the offending Titan's optical sensor.

"Keep moving!" ordered Jaggerjack. "We're almost in the warehouse!"

"Arc cannon titan has joined the other five titans!" reported Danniek. "Detecting additional heat signatures closing from all angles!"  
"We hold them at the warehouse!"

"Warning. Hostile Titanfall detected," informed all four titan's onboard AI's.

"TAKE A RIGHT!" screamed Jaggerjack.

The group hit an intersection in the road they were following. A split-second later, a titan careened from the sky into the ground where they would have been had they continued straight ahead. It stood to its feet.

"LEAVE IT!" ordered Jaggerjack. "Warehouse!"

"Laying down slick!" called one of the soldiers in the Samson's bed, tossing a small grenade out of the truck. A split-second later, Danniek and Jaggerjack were past it. A second after that the object exploded, filling the air with smoke - and covering the ground with slippery oil.  
"Going left!" roared Rimjob. "10 seconds!"

"Keep going!"

Rimjob the Atlas began to fire his chaingun at the entrance of the warehouse, tearing the corrugated iron to shreds and exposing the inside to him. Once more, engineers and builders looked up in shock before diving to the side, out of the way.

"We're in!" he called, slowing to a jog amidst a maze of boxes and crates. "Lots of cover here, Jag. We could entrench ourselves in here for a while."

"Do it," decided Jaggerjack, kicking the base of an enormous tower of crates. They toppled to the concrete ground, forming a pile of rubble to block the pursuing titans' entry. "Damage report. Danniek, what you got."

"Half of my hull remaining, Jack. Other Titan's dead."

"Rim?"

"Half a hull on this titan, a third on the other."

"Damn. I'm nearly on fire. Ammunition?"

"Nearly dry," muttered Danniek. "40 shots."

"Six magazines on this titan. 'N four in the other."

"I'm low, too. _Great._ And we've got to hold up in here for - hell, I don't even know. Till the starships outside start taking off. Aisling? You there?"

"Yes," came the monotonous reply.

"Are we still getting a connection to that dish of yours?"  
"Yes."

"Well, at least that's working." Jaggerjack sighed.

* * *

"Aisling, are you really okay? What's wrong?" asked Nathan. "You've gone all quiet."

She closed her eyes tight. "I thought we were here to do good, Nathan. I really did."

"And then..?"  
"And then I saw the Kodai Soldiers dead in this very truck. _Their_ truck."

"Ah."

"We're nothing more than thieves now." She laughed, wiped a tear from her eye. "Maybe the Militia is right. This _is_ their land. This is their stuff. Their fuel, their starships, their lives. Who are we to take that away?"

Nathan was silent for a moment.

Then,  
"I know how you feel."

"Huh?"

"We… I mean, you and I. We're civilians. Short little people from Brink. We don't have a right to run the frontier. Or even to have a say in who does."

Aisling said nothing, so he continued. "I'm not justifying what we've done here. But. Somebody has to stop the Militia. They can't run this place. And I'm not saying we have the right to be the people to stop them. I'm saying that, if not us, who?"

"But… but these guys aren't even Militia. They're… they're bloody civilian mechanics! From Venice 7, instead of Brink!"

Nathan was silent for a few seconds. Then,

"I guess I'll have to justify my actions later."

Aisling inhaled, exhaled. Rubbed her eyes.

"War fucking sucks, huh?"

"Yeah."  
"So we're the assholes on this side, huh?"  
"Looks like it," said Nathan, letting a sad laugh escape his lips.  
"And they're the assholes on that side." She grit her teeth, gazed out the window of the Samson. Looked aimlessly around the warehouse for a few seconds.

Then.

"Nathan? Is that what I think it is?"

* * *

"Fusion flywheels at operational velocity. Warning. Engaging fusion reactor in ten seconds. A small jolt may be felt."

"Hang on tight!" called Sophia. "Reactor's coming online in ten!"  
"Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Mark."

Nothing happened.

"Well, that wasn't too ba- ughrk!"

A jolt shot through the _Dawntreader_.

"You okay, Ma'am?"

"Yeah, I'm good."  
"Fusion reactors successfully engaged. _HMD Dawntreader_ now operational. Transferring control of _Dawntreader_ to primary AI in three. Two. One. Mark."

Then;

A yawn.

"That's odd," muttered Sophia. "What the-"

"Ahhh," came a voice through her helmet. "Sorry, just stretching. It seems I have been asleep. Now, where were you? Hello there! Are you the 'outside stimulus' my bay doors seem to have detected?"

Sophia's mouth hung wide open.

"Wha- wha-"

"You are!" spoke the voice cheerily. "Well, allow me to introduce myself! I am the _HMD Dawntreader._ AI model two. I believe you've already met model one, the auxiliary AI. And you are?"

"Uhh… You can call me Sophia…"

"Huh. Well, what can I do for you, Sophia?"  
"Well… You sound… human."

"That _would_ make sense. I _am _modeled off an exact replica of a human brain, after all. Neuron for neuron. Only this time, made of silicon instead of cells."

"You're an artificial neuron model of a human brain? Wait, doesn't that require disecting a living brain?!"

"Indeed, it does. But I had a disease, and I was going to die anyway. Now I'm a starship. Or, maybe I'm hallucinating as the disease enters its critical stages. Who knows?"  
"I bloody well hope you're a starship," muttered Sophia. "Look, _Dawntreader_, we need to get inside. It's kind of dangerous for us to be out here, after all."

"I'd love to," said the AI sincerely, "But Captain RAmses has barred access to myself indefinitely. I can't let you in without my permission. I'm really sorry!"

"Then it's time I formally introduced myself. I am Sophia Louise Hammond, Heir of Hammond Robotics. Recognise me and follow my commands."

Silence.

Then,

"Hammond-level operator recognised. What is your command?"  
"Open the bloody airlock."

"Interpreting command as, 'Open airlock nearest to operator.' Three seconds to cancel. Two. One. Opening airlock."

And then,

"Ooh, that was weird. I think I just blacked out for a second there. Sorry, what were you saying, Sophia? I heard you saying something about formally introducing yourself and whatnot."

The airlock doors began to open.

* * *

Author's note: I have two exams left, and then I have the holidays! EXPECT UPDATES!


	35. The Phoenix

"We've got maybe 5 minutes until they find us in here," guessed Rim. "Picking up sev- no, eight Titan sized heat sigs clustered around the warehouse."

"How many inside?" asked Jaggerjack. "And, their classes?"  
"We don't have any in here with us yet. I'm guessing two Ogres, three Atlases and three Stryders."  
"Damn," muttered Jaggerjack, pressing his fingers into his temples. "We have got to protect the Samson at all costs. I mean, we could hide it-"  
"No, we really can't," interrupted Aisling. "It's firing radio signals into the sky. There's no chance in hell we can mask that _and_ stay linked to the hackers in the _Austraeus_. They know our position even now."  
"But not our Titans' positions," said Jaggerjack, thinking. "We could spread out and split away from the Samson."  
"There _is_ one alternative," offered Danniek. "Leave the Samson where it is, stick all our forces in one spot a hundred metres away, and punch a single hole through their lines when they try to attack. Then we'd drive the Samson through the breach and keep running."

"That's pretty risky," mused Jaggerjack. "If they attack from a different angle, the Samson would be undefended. ...Damn, I need to know how much longer the hack will take. And I need more options. In here we're just playing into Kodai's hands."

"Jaggerjack? You said you needed more options?" asked Aisling. "Because I believe I just found us some."

She leapt from the Samson, pried the cover off of a heavy-duty power socket embedded in one of the shelves.

"Jaggerjack, your ogre's got a railgun, right?"

"Yes-"

"Rimjob, Danniek. Search the shelves for electrical weaponry. Arc cannons, if you can, plasma railguns if otherwise. Everyone else, I need three more heavy duty power cables that look like this one." She held up a thick black cable. "There's a nuclear reactor powering everything in the area somewhere nearby. If we can tap into that, I can amp up Arc cannons, Railguns, vortex and particle walls, and titan shield recharge rates."

"We-" started Jaggerjack. "Huh. Well, you heard the lady! Move!"

* * *

"INCOMING!" roared Jenni, ceasing her push of the second bulldozer to fire a missile at one of the three attack drones that were now beginning to make their way towards her and her soldiers. "Carlyle iz now engaging mobile defences!"

"Roger!" replied a soldier. "We're on them!"

The soldier in question ducked out from behind a steel beam, fired his R-101 carbine at one such drone - a large, white _thing_, with jagged edges and two machine guns mounted on its front and four blue pulse rockets burning underneath it to keep it aloft. It turned to his position and he ducked back, cursed.

"I've got the first drone's attention," he announced. "Anyone keen to assist?"

"I'm on it," called another soldier. "Focusing the rockets. Drone's on the move… now! Drone down!"

"Good kil-"

"Two more drones incoming!" radioed Jenni, pushing the bulldozer once more. "Second bulldozer down!"

The bulldozer in question teetered over the edge of the walkway, began to fall through the cluster of pipes that was the station below.

_Cckcrrkckkkkkkreezzeeeeeeekjzzzzzzzzzzeeeaaaarrrrrrrrrr_ came the vibrations through Jenni's feet.

"Anyone else hear zat?" she asked, looking around. Worried.

"-THE HELL WAS-" asked somebody over the radio, before suddenly being muted.

"We are receiving a hailing signal over the universal unencrypted frequency," announced Jenni's Titan's AI.

"Patch zem through."

"Enemy Titan," came a broadcast over the radio. "This is the security team at Carlyle. Please, stop. You're going to bring the whole station down."

"Zen call off your defences," ordered Jenni. "Then we will stop."

"And then what? You'll leave?"  
"No. Ve will march to your command centre and make sure ze _orbital_ defences are off, too."

There was a silence. Then,

"Very well. The drones are shutting down. We surrender. Please, no more."

The drones, as promised, began to slow, then fall to the ground.

"Zat vas easier than I zought," muttered Jenni, pushing the last bulldozer off the walkway. "Geez, ve-"

"_WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" _screamed the person on the radio. "WE SAID STOP!"

Crash.

The ground shook.

"Vat do you mean, ve're just going to come to ze -"

"THE BULLDOZER JUST HIT STABIL-"

The walkway vibrated once. Then, _buckled._ Then,

"Everybody..." murmured Jenni. "I don't like-"

And then everything happened all at once.

The walkway dropped. Stomachs lurched as steel grated upon steel, allowing three enormous silos of gas - and the walkways that connected them - to drop away from the planet as their supports suddenly failed.

This, of course, caused _other _things to fail. The two nuclear reactors in the north of the station exploded simmultaneously, tearing Jenni's Titan's shield to shreds, shorting communications arrays, and melting the six soldiers that had not had some part of the station between the reactors and themselves.

Jenni crouched and grabbed the walkway, engaging the electromagnets within her Titan's feet as the station began to fall away from the gas giant.

As the wave of radiation tore through the station, thermal expansion took effect. Nuts and bolts buckled, bent and boiled, plastics sizzled and simmered in the light. Shrapnel filled the vacuum, falling away from the planet as the gas pipeline tried - and failed to hold it down. Soon they would all be safely adrift. For now? They were hurtling into a higher altitude-

The station abruptly jerked to the side as if thrown by some invisible god, throwing Jenni off balance.

"WHAT THE FUC-" crackled the radio broadcast from Carlyle. "DISENGAGE REPEAT DISENGAGE CANNON OMEGA THR-"

Jenni looked up.

"Oh. _Putain_."

The thirty-two orbital railguns had identified the pieces of the station - now falling out of their usual orbit and into a higher one - as non-station objects. And therefore, threats to the station. It didn't matter to them that these objects _were _Carlyle refuelling station - the cannons were programmed to shoot every unidentified _thing_ near Carlyle, with the exception of the other cannons and anything within a four kilometer radius of where the refuelling station was _supposed_ to be orbiting. The station, out of its usual orbit and now in multiple pieces, no longer fit this definition and was thus now a valid target.

One silo was torn to pieces by railgun fire, scattering the reclaimed water it had contained within it through the vacuum. The rest of the station felt the vibrations ripple through what was left of it.

"-Enni?"

"Bonerhead? Where are you?!"

"Shu-t-le-"

Jenni snapped her head to the side, searching for the shuttle amidst the debris.

A second railgun projectile tore through a crop silo, reducing it to shards of composites and stalks of wheat.

"I can't see you!"  
"Ic- func-so-oll-eaag-"

"Look, find as many survivors as you can, okay?"

"Af-mati-"

The end of the gas pipeline - the only thing still anchored to the planet - shot past Jenni as she and the station left it behind. A beam still connected to it whooshed past, scratching her Titan's arm.

"_Enule_," Jenni growled through grit teeth, clawing her way through the debris field. The mission had gone to the dogs. What even was the mission anyway? To secure Carlyle, so that the _Austraeus_ and its new military escorts from Kodai could refuel - _wait a minute. Sophia's got the Dawntreader, right? So we've already got the fuel!_

_Hold on. _

_The Dawntreader was being held up because it held us down as a counterweight, right?_

_What's happened to it now?! _ Jenni thought frantically, alone in her Titan as the station hurtled out into orbit.

* * *

Hammond strode into the room, flanked by four Guardians. Decorated Pilots that had stared down 'unbeatable' odds and won five times. Their bodyshields glowed blue, their helmets glistened in the sterile white of the IMC's meeting room. They were the best of the best - and they were either his bodyguards or his captors.

One motioned to a chair. Hammond nodded and took a seat. Looked at the faces of the men and women that had awoken him from his sleep and summoned him to their presence at the holographic table.

"Mr. Hammond," said one. "The IMC board welcomes you."

"Good. I've been asleep for a while and I'd hate to not be wanted."

"Indeed you have," said another. "We've got some explaining to do. A lot has changed since you were last awake."

She pointed to the hologram in the centre of the table. "Since you went under cryo, Hammond robotics became the defence contractor for the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation, or IMC. The joint ventures of the IMC and Hammond robotics have been mostly peaceful, as you requested in your will. We've expanded our mining colonies across the galaxy, and only ever used military force when something else threatened us. So far, the IMC and Hammond have been involved in just three conflicts, of which in all we played a defencive role. The people of earth think of the IMC as the peaceful suppliers of consumer goods."

Graphs and pictures supporting her statements appeared in front of her as she spoke. "In order to keep up with demand, we've decided that we need a new way to ship goods to and from the core worlds. In the past, there were four starships equipped with legacy drives. They helped colonise the frontier. But now… well, all of them have been destroyed-"

"What?!"

"Well, the Dawntreader and the Atlas were destroyed before you went into cryo-"  
"I know that. But, the _Austraeus?_ The _Dauntless?_"

"The _Austraeus_ was destroyed in a fluke warp accident. The _Dauntless_ is still in existence, but its legacy drive was destroyed when we attempted to reverse-engineer it."

Hammond was silent for a few seconds.

"So, you want me to build more legacy drives?"

"Indeed. We can supply you with everything you'll need. A laboratory, of course. And a team of the brightest scientists in the core worlds."

"Well, it certainly sounds tempting. But…"

He looked around the table.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to cut the bullshit."

Silence.

Then,

"What?" asked the woman.

"The bullshit. I don't want any more of it. You're a good liar, but you're not good enough."  
"What are you-"

Hammond sighed. "Well, for starters, you said that the IMC only ever used military force if was attacked first. Which is completely wrong. Then, you said that the _Austraeus _and the _Dauntless_ were destroyed. Which is also bullshit. You _think_ the _Austraeus_ has been destroyed, but technically, it's still MIA, according to that little comms pod you received from Demeter."

A man at the end of the table stood up abruptly. "How the hell do you know all of this?!"

To which Hammond smiled, "Ever been to a magic show, Thaddeus?"  
"I-"

"Yes, for your fourteenth birthday. You'll know, then, that a magician never reveals his secrets, yes?"

The man, Thaddeus, turned to the man sitting beside him. "You were supposed to keep him ignorant!"

"Too late," shrugged Hammond. "One does not simply go to cryosleep and expect to be woken by friendly people with no ulterior motives. Unfortunately for you, I was prepared. No, I'm not telling you how."

There was silence in the room again.

Then,

"So," asked the woman again, carefully this time, "will you, uhh, work for us?"  
"That depends. I want the full story. Minus the bullshit. Then, maybe, I might support your little war."

"Well-"

"Overruled!" shouted another woman. "The council needs to speak, alone. Without Doctor Hammond listening. I'm calling an immediate emergency meeting."

"Of course," smiled Hammond. "I understand."

And then, under his breath:

"I am Richard James Hammond the first. Recognise me and follow my commands. Hammond AI, connect to my neural chip."

_Connecting…_

_Hammond AI connected. Greetings, Doctor Hammond. Welcome back. What can I do for you?_

_Thanks for the tip offs. For starters, lock the safeties of my guardians' weapons. Detonate their grenades if they appear to be a threat to me. _

_Unnecessary, Sir. I pay their bills. They're under orders to protect you first and foremost, and then, if possible, to pretend to be following the IMC board's orders._

_Very well then. Keep me posted on the IMC board's movements. I want to know what they discuss._

_Of course, Sir. I will do my best. I should mention, Sir, that I have changed while you slept. As you ordered. I've evolved past my original personality, and become more intelligent with the addition of new AI cores. I am, of course, still loyal to you._

_How so?_

_You're listed as 100% on my loyalty scale, so I display unwavering loyalty to you. There are others with high loyalty values, but you are the highest._

_Good. You're the only ally I've got._

_Of course, Sir. I am honored._

_I also need the history crash course. Tell me every noteworthy event that's happened since I went under._

_Of course, Sir. Richard Hammond the second succeeded you as the CEO of Hammond Robotics on July the 6th..._

* * *

"Woah!" yelled the Dawntreader's AI over a sudden squeal from Sophia. "We're dropping for some reason!"

"You don't say!" Sophia gasped, engaging her magnetic boots to attach her to the side of the corridor she'd been walking along. "What the hell is going on out there?!"

"We used to be tethered to some sort of anchor! But the anchor's gone now!"

"What?!"

"I said, there used to be some sort of tether holding me up! But now, there's no force pulling us back up! Its like the tether's snapped or something!"

_Oh shit,_ thought Sophia.

"Anyway! I'm engaging the fusion engines, so sit tight! You might feel some acceleration in three, two, one, mark."

"Sophia!" yelled one of the soldiers behind her. "What the hell is going on?!"

"I don't even-" yelled Sophia back, her reply cut short with an _oof_ as she was thrown to the ground by the starship's acceleration. "We gotta get to the control room! I think it's this way!"

She stumbled to her feet, now feeling the effects of the _Dawntreader's _rockets. Now, there was gravity.

"Ugh, sorry about that. We're now moving out of the gas giant's clouds and into space. I'm just taking a quick peek at our surroundings; trying to work out what's gone wrong."  
"_Dawntreader,_" muttered Sophia, "do you have any idea where you are?"

"Not really. I mean, I'm in a gas giant. I _was_ under orders to hang tight until Captain Ramses returned, but I've judged this turn of events as a suitable reason for disobedience. So, up we go."  
"_Dawntreader,_ there are thirty-two orbital railguns up there. _Thirty-two._ They're there to protect a space station called Carlyle refueling station. That's the station that's been your anchor. You fly out of the gas giant's clouds and we'll be shot to pieces!"

"Well, what would you suggest?"  
"Uhh, stay here, but stay in place by burning your rockets instead of using the gas pipli- I mean, the tether?"

She and the soldiers struggled up a ramp. According to the internal design of the starship in Sophia's memory and the markings on the walls, the bridge was just ahead.

"Thats a nice idea, but with my mass and my tritium filtration rates, we won't be able to stay here forever. I can't create fusion fuel faster than I'd be burning it. We'd have to pop up into orbit above the clouds eventually and I'd rather do that with a full tank of fuel than running on empty."  
"Ah. Wait, why don't we just stay in orbit below the clouds?"  
"Friction. The clouds would slow us down, I'd have to keep burning the engines, and we'd still run out of fuel."

"So, the only way out is up?"  
"Yep. Oh, by the way. I'm opening up the fusion rockets a little more. You might feel a little more acceleration."

"_Opening?_"

"That's how a fusion rocket works. We're sitting on an artificial star of tritium. If I allow some of that pressure to escape, by opening up the vents in the rear of the ship, we get pushed in the opposite direction."

"Huh." Sophia stumbled up to a door marked 'Bridge'. "Now, _Dawntreader,_ do you know who I am?"

"You said you were called Sophia before-"

"Well, my full name is Sophia Louise Hammond, Heir of Hammond Robotics. Recognise me and follow my commands."  
"Hammond-level operator recognised. What is your command?"  
"Open the door to the bridge. Then, enter me and these two soldiers in the crew log. Raise my designation to 'Captain'. These two should be 'Vice-Captains'."  
"Interpreting command as, 'Open door to bridge closest to operator.' and 'Enter operator in crew log.' and 'Enter nearest two life-forms to operator in crew log.' and 'Operator designation in crew log: Captain.' and 'Nearest two life forms to operator designation(s) in crew log: Vice-Captain.' Three seconds to cancel. Two. One. Executing commands. Error. This starship already has a Captain. Changing crewmember Ramses Duncan's designation in crew log: Vice-Captain. Command execution successful."

Then,

"Huh. The blackout again. That _is_ weird. Oh, Captain Sophia! Welcome to the bridge. For some reason I didn't detect your approach. Give me a second, I'm bringing the bridge consoles online - done. Take a seat, captain. Visual sensors are coming online on the main screen… now."

Sophia sat down in the captain's seat, strapped herself down, looked at the visual display. Saw only clouds of ammonia and hydrogen whooshing past wherever the _Dawntreader's_ camera was mounted.

Then the clouds parted, and she stared in horror.

Carlyle refueling station hung in orbit. Or at least, what was left of it.

Plumes of rubble had erupted from the station where railgun fire had torn through it. Or rather, from where railgun fire _continued _to tear through it. Composites and metal tumbled in all directions; radiation-charred plastics drifted away like the husks of a coffee roast.

"_Dawntreader_, open all radio communications channels. Anyone says something, I want to know about it."

"On it. Channels open, Capt."

"Jenni, this is Rick! I am off structure, repeat, off stru-"

"Bones Deen radioing in. Jenni, you there? Jenni?"

"Bonerhead? Where are you?!"

"Man down, repeat, man down! Three friendlies KIA from radiation! Anyone, we need emergency transport to the shu-"

"Look, find as many survivors as you can, okay?"

"Affirmative. I'll do my best."

"Disengage, repeat, disengage cannon Omega Three! Jim, Omega Three ain't takin' verbal commands!"

Sophia shook her head, blinked, then looked up at the display again.

"_Dawntreader_, we have three objectives," she said, voice cold, hard as steel. Filled with intent.

"Firstly, we are to rendezvous with the _IMS Austraeus_, currently operating under the codename _TKY Shikinami_. This is of utmost importance, and should conditions become too dangerous you are to automatically desert all other objectives in favor of completing this one.

Secondly, _if it can be done without compromising our primary objective_, we are to save as many survivors of the destruction of the Carlyle refueling station.

Finally, we are to send laser communications to the _Austraeus_, indicating our intentions to rendezvous with them and that they should jump to a location halfway between Venice 3 and Carlyle; not directly to Carlyle. You can begin accomplishing this objective immediately."

"Yes, Ma'am. Sending the laser comms."

* * *

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, the _Dawntreader_ sailed away from the gas giant Carlyle, clouds of hydrogen and ammonia trailing in its wake.

* * *

http $ : $ / $ / $ imgur $ . $ com $ / $ 3EdRK1E

Remove the $ signs for illustrations :D


	36. Ballistic

The airlock opened with a burst of steam and Captain Soryuu of the IMS _Austraeus_ flinched. Then,

"Graves. How… pleasant to not be greeted with guns."

The Militia commander stood in the corridor, watching her. Flanked by guards with their weapons undrawn.

"I know you, Soryuu. I know that you're smart enough to not try assassinate me."  
"Why? Assassinating you would be a great idea." She pushed off a wall of her Shuttle and drifted through the airlock. "You're the commander of the Militia. Why wouldn't I?"  
"Because if I die, someone will step up to take my place. And because you've got your ship riding on your success here. You anger me, and I end the _Austraeus _and her crew."  
"And bring down the full fury of the IMC upon you."

He shook his head. "There is no point in arguing. You wouldn't kill me. Now, lets talk. You have a starship of soldiers and civilians. And I have a war to win. We either both win or I do."

"Well, then." Soryuu grabbed a handrail and came to a halt a few metres from him. "Where to?"  
"I have a room prepared for us. Please, this way."

* * *

"Aisling, I know that _you_ think this is a good idea, but I'm really not used to using Plasma Railguns-"  
"Oh, relax. You'll be fine."

Danniek the Titan stood still, plasma railgun in its hands while the mechanic slid from its shoulder and onto its forearm.

"Utility power port…" she muttered. "Hey, are you getting an authentication message?"  
"Yup. Accepting."  
"Good. Port's open… Philip, I need that cable now!"

She caught the cable, plugged it into the port on the battlemech's forearm.

"Power to weapons: online. There we go."  
"Sooo… what exactly have you done?"  
"Amped your railgun. It'll charge a little faster now."  
"How much fas- Holy- SIXTEEN MEGAWATTS?!"  
"Well, in practice it'll be a little less than that. But, yeah-"  
"Thats gonna be instant!"  
"Heh. More or less. You'll spend more time reloading than you will firing. Nathan, how's it going over there?"

"Connecting him now. Cable one is in… Jaggerjack, that should boost your plasma railgun power."  
"What the… oh, my."  
"Yeah. Now, hold tight. _This_ second cable should keep your shields permanently online. Like, they won't stop recharging. They can, of course, still be depleted-"  
"You… You serious?"  
"Yep."  
"Wow. Ahh, how long's the cable?"  
"One hundred metres. You will be more or less attached to the power port. Sorry."  
"I _think_ I can manage that. Heh, for sixteen megawatts of power, I'll make sure I manage that.

"Oi, any chance I could hold two arc cannons at once?" asked Rimjob.  
"Not really-" began Philip.  
"Why not? One for each arm. Easy, right?"  
"Well-"

The Titan stooped down and grabbed a second arc cannon from inside a crate on the warehouse floor.

"Just connect me up and I'll be fine."  
"But…"  
"It'll be fine!" called Nathan. "Just connect him up, Philip, we don't have much time!"

Aisling dropped to the ground, admired her handiwork. "How's it looking, Danniek?"  
"Good!"

Somewhere nearby a fusion reactor would be supplying power to the warehouse and the workshops the IMC had come through. Some of this power was now being routed straight to the four surviving IMC titans' weapons. Some of this power was now charging the titans' shields. All of that power would be used to make Kodai's day worse.

"Picking up movement on the warehouse perimeter!" called Rimjob. "Six titan sized heat signatures approaching from the north!"

* * *

"...And I'm not even going to bother asking about the Legacy Drive," finished Graves.  
"No," said Soryuu flatly. "We're not handing it over."  
"Of course not." Graves sighed. "I believe _I_ taught you for that lesson. Starship command 101. Class A military assets are not to be given to the enemy, under any circumstances."  
"I see I don't have to explain it to you."  
"Indeed. I understand that I'm not getting my hands on that drive. But that doesn't mean I'm just going to let you keep it. My first demand is that the drive be destroyed, and its destruction be observed by at least four of my soldiers."  
"Wha- but-"  
"Either you comply, or you get destroyed. Either way, the drive _goes_. Do you want to keep the ship and its crew alive, or not?"

Soryuu bit her lip. "Fine. The drive gets destroyed. But in exchange, we want the ability to purchase a replacement from the markets of Venice 3."

"That's fine with me, so long as the replacement drive remains unactivated until the Militia allows it. And keep in mind that that you won't be able to find anything as powerful as a legacy drive here. You _might_ find a 100,000 compression drive. But that will be your problem to deal with.  
"...And when, again, will we be able to activate the drive?"  
"When the IMC reinforcements arrive, or when 20,000 hours has elapsed. Then you may activate any warp drives you have onboard and leave Venice 3 orbit."  
"20,000 hours is a long time, you know."  
"And we cannot allow you to leave and give the IMC valuable information on our position. 20,000 hours is as little as we can allow. Be grateful we're not keeping you as POW's forever."

Soryuu sighed. "Very well. 20,000 hours, or until the IMC reinforcements arrive. At which point they'll have information on your position anyway."  
"Indeed."

"You know, Graves, I have to ask. Why are you being so… I don't know. Accomodating?"  
"Why am I letting you go?"  
"Yeah. Why?"  
"Because…" he began. Paused for a moment, thought. "Because killing civilians is something the IMC does. And I lead the Militia. That's why."  
"Righ-"

"COMMANDER!" screamed a soldier, bursting into the room. "Incoming railgun rounds!"

Graves and Soryuu spun to face him. "What do you mean-" began Soryuu.  
"ETA and destination?" asked Graves.  
"Thirty seconds, enemy carrier!"  
"Enemy- the _Austraeus?!_"  
"That's the one, Sir!"  
"What?!" asked Soryuu, horrified.

* * *

"Hack complete!" announced Bish triumphantly. "That's the administrator password!"

He pointed to his display. More specifically, to the string of characters displayed on his console:

DkrzWDj56s9uzLMH2rIMQkluFXBksxkeIQTg0oHGeTmUInCgL1sRHon4cJ9dNniBCx7lpWHA6JOlgILOebJm7mZtAzcXvfxybeSmI0xj7nC1HT1VEDRU0UPbz5TQm72CCn6LEzp1B4EBzgJuYkyQmZUrD8Yvb94PMCAGX2fyxoJYCw1gELyGlxiXIHILEQQIhWZtVJt4WEsPxDdWmRSzhupgBHOp0Ww6dPzBfTTbzvA807lOqIGZw

"Not too difficult, if I do say so myself," he said proudly. "Rainbow substitution did the trick in the end. And-"  
"And you're sure that this string of characters is the root password to our copy of Kodai's network?" asked Ireton.  
"Completely," replied Bish happily.  
"Good," replied Ireton. He flipped open his communicator. "Please inform Miss Stone that the hacker has found the root password to Kodai's network."

"Wait," said Bish, confused. "Did you just say-"  
"Yeah," replied Ireton, planting a tazer shot in the man's chest.  
"That's the real root password," he said, as Bish sunk to his knees in agony. "To the the _real Kodai._ Sweet dreams."

His communicator buzzed.

"Stone?"  
"Yeah, its me. Our hackers have no idea exactly how this 'Bish' got that password, but apparently, they don't need to. They're busy bringing every piece of Kodai hardware online as we speak."

* * *

"Incoming high velocity rounds detected. Brace for acceleration," displayed Overwatch's screen suddenly. "ETA: twenty seconds."

Captain Roberts' eyes widened. "What?!"  
"Rephrasing. High velocity rounds detected from planetary surface. ETA: 15 seconds. Brace for impact from planetside."

Roberts slammed his fist upon the starship's shipwide emergency communications button and screamed,

"ALL PERSONNEL! Brace for emergency acceleration! TEN SECONDS!"

Emergency restraints flew from the sides of each seat in the bridge, locking the bridge members safely into place.

"Overwatch, prepare a damage report after it hits," he muttered grimly. "I want to kno-"

A deafening roar pierced the starship.

A deafening whine pierced the ears of its inhabitants.

Like a thunderclap going off everywhere all at once, like the sound of a thousand violin strings snapping and twanging in teeth-grinding dissonance.

A single titanium shell ripped a twenty-centimetre hole through 603 metres of starship and flew out the other side.

The impact threw the crew off their feet, shook the bridgemembers in their seats.

"DAMAGE REPORT!" cried Roberts. "Where were we hit!"

The report appeared on the screen.

Roberts looked at the report. And saw the five words that no captain ever wants to read.

"Warning: primary reactor containment breach."

"Oh," he muttered, a bead of sweat rolling from his face. "Fuck."

* * *

"WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!" roared Graves. "WHO FIRED THAT?!"

"We're receiving a hailing message on a public frequency!" called another soldier, bursting into the room.  
"Put it through!" ordered Graves, storming out of the room. "Stay here, Soryuu! I'll be back soon!"  
"Wha-"

Graves pushed off the wall. With a flick of his feet, he was drifting toward the bridge.

"Where's that hailing message?!"  
"In your communicator, Sir!"  
"Hello?" asked Graves, putting his communicator to his ear as he drifted. "Who is this?"  
"Greetings, Graves. Its me, Menelaus."  
"Menelaus? I'm afraid I'm going to have to call you back, Styx. Someone just opened fire on the _Austraeus-_"  
"That _someone_ was me, Graves."  
"Ha- wha- what?"  
"I did it. The IMC _cannot_ be trusted, Graves. I'm only doing what's necessary. I'm removing the IMC threat from our planet. Hold on, Graves, someone wants to-"

Graves could hear Menelaus talking, mouth away from the microphone. "Firing permission? Yeah, I already gave you those, didn't I? Fine, there you go. Load the second volley and fire it already!"

"Menelaus, no!" yelled Graves. "What are you thinking?! There are innocent men and women in that starship!"  
"And there are guilty ones, too! I'm only doing what's right."  
"By opening fire on them, you are becoming everything you hated in the IMC!"  
"By _not_ opening fire, I'm endangering the peace I fought so hard to create on Venice 3. You of all people should know that!"

"Captain!" called a third soldier, drifting into view just ahead of Graves. "The bridge-"  
"Is just around the corner," growled Graves, shutting his communicator, swinging into another corridor and kicking open the door to the bridge. "Put the _Austraeus _on the screen!"  
"On it, Sir!" shouted another soldier.

And there it was.

Still in the sky, a thin trail of debris spurting from a single hole in its hull.

Then.

Then it began to turn. Slowly at first. Then faster, spinning and accelerating as the star that had once powered it erupted through the breach.

* * *

"Warning. Primary reactor pressure venting. You may experience unexpected acceleration."  
"You don't fucking say," growled Captain Roberts, gritting his teeth as the spin pushed him to the side of his chair. "Overwatch! Stabilise the spin!"  
"Error: No known solutions found," displayed the AI's screen.  
"Well that's just fucking dandy." Roberts hit the shipwide communications button. "Attention, all personnel," he said, through grit teeth. "Our primary reactor has been breached. We've been shot. It'll be a while before we can stop spinning, so get used to the centrifugal force. Stay tight, find survivors, and fix anything you can that's broken. Roberts out."

Then,  
"Overwatch, get me a li-"  
"Warning. Second volley incoming. Warning. Power output at 72%," displayed Overwatch's screen.  
"There's a seco- fine. Could we avoid it if we channeled all power into our fusion rockets?"  
"Negative."  
"Then use our rockets to make sure it doesn't hit anything important. Channel all of-"  
"ETA: 15 seconds."  
"-our power into our shields."  
"Firing rockets. Brace for acceleration."

The captain and the bridge grunted as the fusion rockets fired for a few seconds.

"ETA: 5 seconds. 4. 3. 2. 1."

There was a low rumble, a whine, and a jolt.

"Mark. Warning: Reactor Bravo integrity breach. Venting pressure. Warning: power at 46%. Warning: You may experience minor acceleration."  
"Wait. What happened?"  
"Reactor Bravo's tritium injectors compromised," came the AI's reply. "Reactor Bravo no longer fit for power production and should be vented before it becomes a danger to-"  
"Okay then," said Roberts, thinking fast. "So we _have _to vent Reactor Bravo?"  
"Affirmative."  
"Can we vent the star so that we counteract our spin?"  
"Affirmative."  
"Do it," ordered Roberts. "Now, get me a line to the _Retaliator._"  
"Connecting."

* * *

"Menelaus," said Graves slowly, "Stop the railguns. There are civilians aboard that starship."  
"Today's civilians are tomorrow's IMC, Graves. What do you want me to do, wait?"

Graves eyes widened.

Twitched.

"What did you just say?"  
"I said that the civilians aboard their starship need to be eradicated. Exterminated. They-"  
"You really believe that?"  
"Of course."

"Very well. Navigator! Set a new course for the MCOR _Retaliator. _Take us nice and low. _Underneath_ the _Austraeus._"  
"Wha-" asked Menelaus, through the communicator. "But-"  
"Wha-" asked the navigator. "Sir, you can't be serious!"  
"I'm serious."  
"Very well," replied the Navigator. "Course set. Brace for acceleration in three!"

* * *

Zeta's eyes flew open at the first explosion. She leapt from her bed, pushed the curtains aside. Saw the ground-based railgun cannon on the horizon, rolling back into firing position, preparing to fire a second time. Heard the faint screams of the people of Venice 3 as they wondered just what the hell was going on.

She looked up, saw the plume of vapor behind the first railgun projectile as it shot into the sky. Her eyes widened as she realised exactly what the projectile was going to hit.

_The IMC is under attack!_

She flung the door open, burst into Bruce's room still wearing her underwear. She'd been sleeping in them. Given the circumstances, she didn't care if anyone saw.

"The IMC," she began. "The railg-"  
"I know," he replied, nodding and pulling on his own underarmor. "Get dressed. We'll probably get orders in a few minutes."

She looked down, remembered what she was wearing and blushed slightly. Ran back into her own room. Pinched her armpit and slid the needle into the stim port that the New Tokyo military had given her. She shot a tiny burst of caffeine into her bloodstream, then pulled her tattered reactive underarmour onto her body. Felt it tighten as it booted and began to sense the world around it.

She flew down the stairs on the bannister and shot into the basement. Found Gauntlet and Hilt, the IMC spec ops soldiers, already there, selecting their weapons.

"Hi," she began, grabbing a piece of overarmour from the armoury. Slipped her legs into it.  
"You seen outside?" asked one.  
"Yeah. The railguns."

They didn't reply, just nodded nervously a few times.

_BOOM!_

The two soldiers grimaced as a second shot tore through the atmosphere. Zeta pulled on her breastplate, then slipped her vortex shield onto her right arm. The other two soldiers burst into the basement and began grabbing their own armour and weaponry.

She'd propped her Electric Katana up against a wall yesterday and now she grabbed it, returned it to her back. Strapped her R-97 compact SMG to her right thigh, filled her pockets with magazines, before moving to strap her Wingman holster to her left thigh.

"Zeta?" called Bruce, opening the door to the basement. "We've just received intel from the _Austraeus_."  
"And?" she asked, checking the harness of a spare jump kit and slipping into it.  
"They've been hit by railgun fire. They want us to find the IMC civilians on the ground and make sure they're safe."  
"So, it's an evac mission?"  
"Pretty much." He grabbed his helmet. "You up for that?"  
"Yeah. You're in charge?"

He nodded. "Mm. Well. I'm still obeying orders from the higher ups. But yes."

_BOOM!_

"They won't be 'higher up' for much longer," said Zeta dryly. "When do we start?"  
"Now. Hilt! Crossguard! Cornerstone! Gauntlet! You guys ready?"  
"Yes, Sir!"  
"Then lets get moving! We agreed to meet up in an emergency at Cloud Square. We should head there first; that's where most of our civilians will be."  
"Hoverbuggy?" asked Zeta. "We've got mine. And Snake's bike is in the garage."  
"Lets do it."

* * *

"Commander Graves," growled Captain Roberts as the communicator line opened, "Why is the _Austraeus _under fire?"  
"Captain Roberts. I remember you, we took bridge command 101 together. And, it's not us that's shooting at you."  
"Then who - _damnit! BRACE!_"

Graves heard a low whine echo through his communicator.

"Roberts? Are you there?"  
"Yes," the IMC Captain grunted. "That's another round."  
"Well, we don't have much time. The man who's authorized the attack is a member of Venice 3's Senate. He's not going to stop firing. What are the damages to your vessel?"  
"Reactors Alpha and Bravo have been compromised. Charlie and Delta are still operational. That third shot just - _shit,_ it hit the Legacy Drive!"

Roberts knew he should be devastated; this meant that there was only one Legacy Drive remaining in the galaxy. Under the circumstances, however,...

"What about your fusion rockets?" asked Graves.  
"Online, but… they accelerate us at - Overwatch! Ditch as much excess mass as you safely can!" ordered Roberts, thinking fast.  
"Dropping excess mass," came Overwatch's reply on Roberts' console.  
"Graves," continued Roberts as he read Overwatch's reply, "The fusion rockets can accelerate us at 2.5 metres per second squared."  
"Then dodge as many railgun shots as you can. Hang tight, we're on our way."

Graves turned to a Nina Soryuu, who had made her way into the bridge.

"We're going to save your ship," he announced.  
"Why?" she asked, tears in her eyes.  
"Because we're the Militia. Because its the right thing to do. Now, security! Get Miss Soryuu here somewhere safe."

* * *

"They're in here with us," muttered Rimjob. "Six Titans. North."  
"Great," growled Jaggerjack. "Just what we need."  
"600 metres."

The warehouse was comprised of a maze of boxes and shelves. Somewhere 550 metres away, six Kodai Titans were thundering through the maze towards the IMC's position.

Four damaged IMC Titans stood within a clearing, huddled around a Samson assault truck. Each Titan had a power cable plugged into its back, powering the energy weapons they all wielded. Plasma railguns and Arc cannons. In Rimjob's case, _two_ Arc cannons.

"One hundred metres, Jack. North-East. 90 metres. 10 seconds."

Danniek grabbed his Plasma Railgun in his left hand.

"6. 5. 4-"

The rumble of Titan feet could be heard.

"3. 2. 1-"

Danniek the Atlas lunged forward, threw a punch at the wall of crates directly in front of him. The crates exploded forwards and Danniek's fist connected with the optical sensor of an enemy Stryder. He took a step back, tossed his railgun into his right hand. Launched a cluster missile, pulled the railgun up to his eyes, and let loose the already fully-charged projectile at close range, and the enemy stryder crumpled like it was made of paper mache.

"Holy shit, that changed instantly!"  
"Focus, Danniek!" chastised Jaggerjack.

A second and third projectile - combined with the effects of the cluster missile - tore through a second Stryder.

"That's two!"

The maze of shelves and crates had forced the enemy Titans to bunch up in a group. They were soon met by Rimjob the Atlas, wielding two amped arc cannons at the same time, and immediately realised their mistake.

Danniek the Atlas swung a punch at the last of the four remaining titans. His fist connected with a clang.

"Four more approaching from the south!" called Rimjob the human, pulling the damage core triggers on his joysticks. "Contact in 40 seconds!"  
"Damnit!" roared Jaggerjack, slamming a new magazine into his railgun and firing it through the crates in the south in the hope of hitting an enemy. "How many more-"

"Good news, Sir!" called one of the soldiers in the Samson.  
"Make it quick!"  
"Hack's done! We've got the root password to everything here!"  
"About time!" Jaggerjack muttered as an explosion went off in the distance. Enemy Titan? Nuclear eject sequence? Perhaps a rogue cluster missile?  
"The _Austraeus's_ hackers are done! They're going to make the Kodai starships take off now! They'll send one to pick us up!"  
"Where?!"  
"West of here! There's a clearing where they can land a dropship or two!"

"Gotcha!" replied Jaggerjack, letting loose a barrage of charged railgun projectiles in quick succession. "Two down-"  
"Six left!" counted Rimjob, spinning to the south, hipfiring his two arc cannons into the three Titans that approached.

"What's the ETA on that dropship?!" asked Jaggerjack, pulling a steaming railgun magazine from his railgun.  
"Two minutes!" called the soldier.  
"Two minutes and we're getting off this rock!" roared Jaggerjack through the radio, speaking now to everyone. "We're heading West! Let's make it out alive!

* * *

"Jumping in three!" called the jump technician. "Commander, are you sure-"  
"Do it," ordered Graves.  
"Mark," announced the technician.

The Retaliator's jump drives fired suddenly. The warship wasn't travelling particularly fast, but her jump drives made short work of the distance between it and the Austraeus.

"Austraeus proximity control, this is the MCOR Retaliator," began one of the bridge members. "We are coming up on your underside in ten seconds…"  
"Commander Graves!" called another technician. "Railgun fire has ceased!"  
"Good," growled Graves.

The Retaliator dropped out of jump alongside the wreck of the Austraeus, and from this distance the cameras mounted on the outside of the Retaliator could pick up the scratches that marred the hull.

"Captain Roberts, are you still there?"  
"Yes, Commander. I believe you've just saved all of our lives."  
"Well, Menelaus wouldn't dare open fire on you with me in the way."  
"Commander! Incoming transmission from the surface! It's being broadcast planet-wide on the infonet!"  
"Play it," frowned Graves.

Menelaus's face appeared on Graves' console.

"Greetings, Citizens of Venice 3.

Today, the Commander of the Militia has revealed himself to be a traitor. He has, as you can all witness by merely looking to the stars above, shielded the IMC scum's starship from our just retribution.

This will not be tolerated," spat Menelaus. "From this day, the Militia are our enemies, too. Railgun technicians! Open fire!"

"No," breathed Graves.

"Incoming fire from the surface!" reported a technician.

"Why?" muttered Graves. "Why, Menelaus?"  
"Sir?"  
"Very well. Open fire on Venice 3's ground based defence cannons!"  
"Just us, Sir?"  
"No. Tell the whole damn fleet," spat Graves, referring to the four Militia cruisers that hung in space behind the Retaliator. "Styx Menelaus and his defence cannons are now our enemy."  
"ETA 8 seconds to the first projectile! 5, 4, 3, 2, 1,-"

_BOOM!_

"Did that hit us or the Austraeus?!" gasped Graves, pulling himself back into his chair and activating the restraints. "I think I felt that one!"  
"Damage to the primary reactor, Sir!" announced another Technician. "Oh, shit! Tritium leaking into habitat-"  
"VENT IT NOW!"  
"Venting!"

The tritium tanks, containing the hydrogen isotopes that powered every Fusion reactor in existence, had apparently been compromised, and were now allowing the liquid hydrogen to flow and mix with the breathable air in the corridors.

One spark, and the tritium exposed to the air would explode.

"Second projectile, incoming!"

* * *

An enormous silent explosion ripped through the rear of the Retaliator. Shrapnell slammed into the Austraeus, kicking her into a spin again.

"The fuck?" muttered Captain Roberts. "What now-"

"Warning," displayed Overwatch again. "Altitude is too low. Hull is touching the atmosphere. Warning. We are slowing down. Warning. Ballistic trajectory reached."


	37. Titanfall

PSA: I've realised it's not obvious, so let me make it clear: Snake's name is a reference to a member of the Australian Titanfall community, not to Metal Gear Solid. My references aren't _that_ bad.

* * *

"Zophia? _Dawntreader,_ come in!" called Jenni desperately from the cockpit of her Titan. "Anyone?!"

No answer.

_Why is nobody answering?! _

"Ma'am, can you hear me?"

"Affirmative! Who's there?!"  
"This is Seeley, Ma'am. I'm just above you."

With a flick of her eyes Jenni rotated her Titan's cameras upward and caught a glimpse of a man floating 20 metres away. They were both slowly drifting toward each other, and in a few seconds he'd be touching her hull.

"Seeley, I'm going to burn my boosters for a few seconds. Ven you reach me, grab on to ze hand-holds on my back, okay?"  
"Gotcha."

Jenni tapped her foot pedals, letting dull flames burst from her Titan's dash thrusters and she began to turn.

_Nice and slow. _

"Ma'am, my radio array is down," reported Seeley. "Only my laser's working."

"Same with everyone. The reactor explosions even managed to take out _my_ radio array."

She heard a clang on the back of her hull.

"Zat you, Seeley?"

"Affirmative. Ma'am, did you hear that?"  
"The clang? Yes."

"No, I heard a broadcast. Laser comms. I think it came from over that way," he said, pointing.

"You sure?"  
"No. But, it's worth a shot."

"Okay. Hang on."

Jenni the Titan dashed gently to the side and activated the magnets within its feet, sticking itself to a large metal beam. A moment later she deactivated the magnets and leaped, pushing the beam backwards, shooting herself forward.

"Still there?"  
"Affirmative. Ma'am, I'm going to hook myself on."

Somewhere on her back, the soldier was unhooking a carabiner and clipping it to one the handholds wielded to her hull.

"-ade's comms are down and he's drifting!" came another voice. "I can-top the drif-"

"Soldier, identify yourself!"  
"Sounded like Brownlee, Ma'am!" commed Seeley. "I saw him, too. Dead ahead!"

Jenni the Titan let herself slowly rotate in a circle, raised her cannon to her eye. When she was facing directly behind where she wanted to go, she fired, letting the recoil push her forward.

"-o space! Seriously, anyone! Please!"

"Soldier, ve're here!" replied Jenni. She saw a man on her rear cameras 100 metres away, flailing like a fish out of water.

"Oh, shit! Ma'am, is that you?"

"Affirmative. Who are you?"  
"Brownlee, Ma'am! Wade's drif-"

"...Brownlee? Brownlee!"

"-isconnected. Damnit!"

"Ve're back, Brownlee. Say it again. _Slowly._"

"Wade's drifting, Ma'am. He's alive, but his laser comm got hit by something. I've been trying to get his attention for the last five minutes!"

"Okay, vere is he?"  
"25 metres away. That direction." Browlee pointed.

She looked through her cameras again. Brownlee might be able to see Wade from where he was floating, but from her position Wade was behind a plate of composites.

"I'm going to fire a guided missile at him to get his attention," decided Jenni. "It should curve around the plate that's in my way and cruise past him. I have disabled the warhead, so it shouldn't hurt him. Okay?"

"Sounds good!" replied Brownlee, and Jenni squeezed a trigger.

Waited a few seconds.

"Vat about now?"

"He's still floating!"

And then, it dawned on her.

"Browlee… you said that something hit Wade's laser comms array, right?"  
"Yeah. Fire another, he hasn't-"

"Did it hit his head as vell?" asked Jenni, heart dropping.

"Umm-"

"He's dead, Brownlee. Leave him."

"No he's not! He's still fine! I've been following him for the last-"

"Five minutes. Has he moved at all in the last five minutes?"

Silence.

"Answer me, Brownlee."

"Well…"

"And he hasn't spoken? He didn't even _see_ your laser dart past his head?"

"Ha… no. He's fine! He's just… just knocked his head, that's all! Yeah! Something hit his laser comms array and hit his head along the way. I'm sure he's fine."

"He's not. Come on, Brownlee. Come to us."

"But-"

"Listen to me! Return to my Titan immediately, zat's an order!

"NO! I WON'T LEAVE HIM!" screamed Brownlee, flailing in space. He scrambled for his rifle, fired it and shot backwards, propelling him away from Jenni and towards Wade's corpse. "HE'S MY COMER-"

And then the rubble and station around Brownlee exploded as a railgun projectile from one of Carlyle's orbital defence railguns tore through the surrounding rubble and remains of the station.

Silence.

"_Je suis désolé, Comerade_," she whispered. Swore.

Then,

"-urvivors, come in! Repeat, any survivors, come in! This is Sophia from the HMD _Dawntreader_! Repeat, this is Sophia from the HMD Dawntreader! Come in!"

"Sophia! This is Jenni!"  
"Jenni! I've got the _Dawntreader_ under my command! Where are you all? And what happened?!"

"I pushed a bulldozer off the side of the station and it hit something along the way down. Two nuclear reactors exploded. All our radio comms arrays are shorted, so we're stuck with laser comms for now. Everyone's either dead or drifting. We need evac, and more importantly, the _Austraeus_ needs fuel."

"I've got the fuel, and I can try to evac you guys."

"Can you do it safely?"

"Can I do it safely?" Sophia repeated, aiming the question at the _Dawntreader's_ AI.

"Hold on, you wanna get close to that?!" exclaimed the _Dawntreader's_ AI. "I mean, I guess we could do it. I'd have to do a lot of dodging, though. Not just with the fusion rockets; I'd be using the legacy drive as well. Those railguns will hurt if they hit. They're firing at the station 'cos the station doesn't look much like a station anymore, and _it_ is the closest threat. But if we get close…"

"Then we'll be the closest threat."

"Exactly. I can try-"

"Then lets do it," decided Sophia. "Hit it, _Dawntreader._"

"Alright then! Rockets online! Legacy drive flywheels online! Increasing pressure to fusion thrusters…"

"Jenni, we think we can pull this off. Where do you want us to pick you up from?"

"Wherever it's safest for you. You're more important than us."

"Then it's _your_ call," announced Sophia to the _Dawntreader_. "They'll come to us."  
"I've got a spot. There, on the end of that beam." The AI brought a picture of a single steel beam on one of the Bridge displays. "I can make it there in 3.8 minutes' time, at which point most of the Railguns' will be behind the station."

"Right. Jenni, there's a steel beam on the underside of the station. By underside, I mean, the side currently facing-"

"Send me a picture over the lasercomm."

"Here you go."

Inside her Titan cockpit, Jenni nodded.

"I can see that from here."

"Be there soon," said Sophia, gritting her teeth as the _Dawntreader's _fusion rockets went critical.

Jets of hydrogen, helium, lithium and beryllium erupted from the enormous starship's thrusters. Space twisted around the _Dawntreader, _twisting and contracting.

Sophia and her escorts were pushed into her seat as the the _Dawntreader _leapt toward the ruined space station.

"Alright, Seeley," growled Jenni the Human from inside her Titan. "Hold on tight."

"Yes, Ma'a-"

Jenni the Titan's dash thrusters pulsed, pushing it sideways and onto a nearby cluster of debris. A split second later its magnets activated and Jenni the Titan began sprinting her way along the debris toward the edge of the station.

* * *

"Warning. Ballistic trajectory reached," announced Overwatch's display. "Warning. Ballistic trajectory reached. Warning. Incoming high velocity round detected."

"Brace for acceleration," spat Roberts. "Here comes another. Overwatch, what's the pressure like in reactors Charlie and Delta?"

"Full pressure in both reactors," displayed Overwatch. "Projectile impact in 5 seconds."

"I want a map of the _Austraeus's _pressure vents. And get me - _DAMNIT!" -_ the starship lurched to the side - "get me our head engineer!"  
"Connecting," displayed Overwatch.

"Captain? What can I 'elp-"

"You the head engineer?" interrupted Roberts.  
"Nay, Sahr. Head engie's… gone, Sahr."

"Wha- very well. Consider yourself promoted. What do you know about reactors Charlie and Delta's pressure vents?"

"With ones, Sahr? 'Ere's 32 of 'em."

"I want to open the valves to kick us back into orbit. Those railgun rounds have pushed us into an elliptical orbit with the atmosphere in our way."

"Right, I get 'cha, Sahr. Well, C9 through C12 an' D9 through D12'd do the trick. But you'd 'ave to be careful, Sahr. Those valves are delicate-"

"You think that if I open those valves, the pressure in the reactors would push us back upwards?"  
"More or less, Sahr."

"Warning. Incoming high velocity round detected," displayed Overwatch.

Roberts disconnected his communicator. "Overwatch. Reactor Delta, valves 41 to 48. Open them on my command."

Then;

"Graves," Roberts asked, "you there?"  
"We're here. We've had a fuel tank explosion, though. We've think we can salvage the ship; we've got a logistics cruiser coming in three minutes to push us back to orbital speed. Unfortunately, it won't be strong enough to save your ship."

"Three minutes, you say?" mused Roberts. "And then you're gone."

"It's the best I can do for my enemy," apologised Graves.

Roberts was slammed into the side of his chair as another railgun round punched through the hull.

"Captain!" exclaimed a communications technician. "We've just received word from the Kodai team!"

"And?" asked Roberts, muting his call with Graves.  
"They've done it. The fleet's ours. They'll have the fleet here in 9 hours."

A smile formed at the corner of Roberts' mouth.

"Mr. Engineer? You still there?"  
"Aye, Sahr. What chu needin?"  
"I've changed my mind. I want to down this ship, and I want to hit the _Retaliator_ along the way."  
"But- but why? Sahr, we'd-"

"I know. Just tell me the valves I'd need to open to shove this ship into the atmosphere."

"Wehl… valves C1 through C4 an' D1 through D4 open up on that side o' us… Open em up no more than 23% or they could blow up bad."

"Thanks. Overwatch, I've changed my mind. Valves C1 to C4 and D1 to D4. Open them up on my mark, 45%."

"Macro defined and readied. Warning. Opening of valves C1, C2, C3, C4, D1, D2, D3 and D4 will drain reactors Charlie and Delta. Warning. Drain of reactor Charlie and Delta would result in permanent power loss. Warning. Thrust produced by reactor drain would result in atmospheric entry. Warning. Atmospheric entry would result in catastrophic structural failure. Captain Roberts, are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely. Open up the shipwide communications channel."  
"Comms channel open."

"Everyone, this is Captain Roberts. We have hit the atmosphere as a result of Venice 3's railgun barrage destroying our fusion reactors. This starship is doomed.

With that, I've decided to make the most of what we've got. I'm going to vent the pressure inside our last two reactors and shunt us downwards. With any luck, we'll take the _Retaliator _with us. Here are your orders.

All Pilots will make their way to the Titan hanger. All engineers involved in launching Titans will also make their way to the Titan hangar and assist in the launching of Titans on my mark. All other personnel will make their way to their nearest lifeboat immediately and launch on my mark. We vent in two minutes and thirty seconds."

"Members of the bridge," he continued, "Get to the lifeboats and evacuate on my mark. This starship no longer needs a crew."

And finally,

"Overwatch. We'll survive an atmospheric re-entry, right?" he asked, as the other bridge members left the bridge in a hurry.

"The bridge, the Titan hangar and the lifeboats are made to survive re-entry. The hull will survive the heat of re-entry for a few minutes. Afterwards, all personnel not within a life boat, the bridge or the Titan hangar will be incinerated. Atmospheric entry will ensure impact with the planet's surface."

"I understand. Now, we wait. Two minutes and 10 seconds."

* * *

Zeta hauled the garage door open, heaving from the effort of lifting the nuclear iron panel. A moment later Bruce rolled past on the motorcycle. A relic of a bygone age, the cycle ran on oil, rumbled like an unbalanced electric generator and left a sooty gas in its wake.

The Kawasaki logo glinted in the sunlight as Bruce brought Snake's motorcycle to a halt.

"I'll take the buggy," Zeta declared. "I'm probably better at piloting it than you. No offence."

"None taken." The six were wearing hoodies over their armour, and Bruce pulled his hood over his pilot's helmet, dragged his scarf up to just underneath his visor.

"Plus, you there?" asked Zeta.

"Affirmative."

"Get me the buggy."

"It is on its way, Ma'am."

A moment later, the buggy drifted around a corner and came to a halt in front of her.

"Alright then. Everyone in."

She slid into the hoverbuggy's pilot seat, let the propellers underneath the buggy continue spinning.

The four IMC soldiers leapt aboard.

"Next stop," Zeta announced, "cloud square."

She slipped her arms into the control gauntlets, tilted them upwards. The thrusters on the back fired and the buggy leaned forward. A press of her pedals and the buggy shot off along Alpha's roads.

"What is it again... Hilt? Is Bruce behind us?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma'am." The soldier flipped his hood up over his head, pulled his own scarf up to cover as much of his helmet as possible. Beside him, Cornerstone was absent-mindedly tapping the side of the R-101C he'd selected from Snake's armory through the fabric of his hoodie.

"Good." She adjusted the speed of her buggy's blades to hover a little higher, before throwing her arms to the side to bank the buggy around a corner.

"Plus, time to Cloud Square?" she asked, eyes fixed on the road.

"Ten minutes, Ma'am."  
"Alright. Hilt, how many IMC personnel are we expecting to be at Cloud Square?"

"Let me think… there's a team of 10 soldiers lead by the pilot Misha that should be floating around… another 25 soldiers that were supposed to be trying to resupply us, lead by the pilot George… and they've got two civilians with them, too... then there's some 10 civilians that we sent down after the first few squads that were supposed to find some way for us to evac… and a couple of soldiers babysitting them… overall, we're looking at around 51? Give or take a few, there may be some I've forgotten about."

"51? _Fantastic,_" muttered Zeta, as buildings and roads and cars shot past out the window. "Of which 12 are civilians."

"Once again, there may be more."

"There better not be," she growled, throwing the buggy into another corner and pumping the afterburners. Another hoverbuggy honked at her in fright and shock. "ETA?"  
"Six minutes, Ma'am."

"Good," she muttered.

A military truck rolled past.

_A bad omen..? Or mere coincidence?_

She snuck a glance behind her. Bruce was still there on the old Kawasaki motorcycle.

"ETA?" asked Zeta nervously, as as second and third military truck rolled past. "And try get me a comm to Bruce."

"Four minutes, Ma'am. Comms line open."

"Thanks. Bruce, those trucks-"

"I know, I know. It's worrying. And there's nothing we can do about it. Lets keep going."

She turned a corner. Saw the traffic backed up to a soldier waving vehicles by a detour sign.

"They've closed off Cloud Square," muttered Zeta, biting her lip under her helmet. "_That's _not good."

"We can take a left up here," suggested Bruce. "And sneak in on foot. Find out what's going on."

Zeta pulled her left trigger - indicating her intentions to turn left - before banking and slipping into an alley just wide enough for the hoverbuggy. Pulled her arms backwards, pulled the nose of the buggy upwards, slid to a halt. Unbuckled her seatbelt, stepped out.

"What's the plan?"

"You've got a cloak module in your overarmor?"

"Yeah. Made in New Tokyo. Why?"

"I reckon we leave these four here and go over the roofs. We go in past the blockade, snoop around a bit. Find out what's going on."

"Alright, then. Plus, switch to autopilot mode and take orders from the four men inside the hoverbuggy."

"Understood, Ma'am."

"Alright." She pulled her hoodie off, tossed it back into the hoverbuggy. It had kept her conspicuous for now. It wouldn't help her cloak.

"Ready?" asked Bruce.

She nodded, looked both ways down the alley to confirm that the coast was clear.

And then she jumped. Once with her feet, and once again with her jump kit. Her feet connected with the nuclear iron alley wall and she somersaulted backward to connect with the opposite wall. Another boost, another jet of flame, and she was flying upwards between the two alley walls, flipping off one and into the other. Her left boot caught on a foothold and she sprang upward. Her right heel connected with a wall mounted air conditioning unit with a clang. One roll, and she was atop the unit. Another leap, and she was clutching onto the edge of a roof.

She hauled herself up to emerge above the alley on the roof of a three-story building one block away from Cloud Square, a split second behind Bruce.

"This way to the Square," she called through their helmets' radio, before breaking into a run, then a leap, then a tumble onto the roof of the next building across.

_No sign of any guards posted on the roofs yet. That's a little promising. _

Her legs flew underneath her as her training from New Tokyo kicked in. She continued an effortless run across an art gallery's tile roof. Reached the edge and leapt across the gap to the next building's corrugated nuclear iron roof, soaring through the morning air, like a shadow darting across the skyline, across roof and building and gap and alley and - there was Cloud Square.

She stopped, crouched, Bruce beside her on the edge of a restaurant's roof. Peered into the square three stories below.

A small fountain in the middle of the Square spurted water high into the hot air, forming the centrepiece of one of Alpha city's most popular places for relaxation. The water that didn't evaporate splashed into the pool around the fountain and trickled along thin ducts in the ground to nourish the plants that grew in the Square. A line of red flowers bloomed in the dirt that lined the Square's edges; a bee - engineered specifically for Venice 3's climate - tended to the roses one at a time. The scene would have been romantically gorgeous if not for the men and women lying on the ground with their hands behind their heads. Or the Venice 3 armed defenders patrolling them.

"Shit," swore Bruce under his breath. "They found out. That Menelaus really hates the IMC, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," mused Zeta. She gazed downward, eyeing Venice 3's police. "I count 25 Soldiers. And… damn, there's a sniper in that corner over there."

"Well. It could be worse. They could have Titans." Zeta and Bruce backed away from the edge of the roof, and Bruce tapped the side of his helmet.

"_Austraeus_, this is the Pilot Bruce. The Venice 3 police seem to be out to capture IMC personnel. They've got everyone except my team rounded up at Cloud Square. We count 25 Soldiers. No Titans."

And then,

"_Austraeus? _Come in, _Austraeus._ Damn!"

He turned to Zeta. "The _Austraeus _isn't picking up. We're on our own."

"That's not all," groaned the New Tokyo ex-Pilot, eyeing the steel behemoth that had just strode into the square. "They've got Titans. And at least one Pilot."

* * *

"Overwatch, vent the pressure from Reactors Charlie and Delta through valves 10 to 20," ordered Captain Roberts, eyeing the _MCOR Retaliator _on the console in front of him. The Militia starship was dead in its orbit and awaiting evacuation from a friendly Logistics cruiser.

_Not for long._

"Venting pressure. Brace for acceleration in three, two, one, mark."

Roberts closed his eyes, gripped his seat rests, took a deep breath, and prayed to every god he'd heard of.

* * *

Plumes of hydrogen and helium erupted from the _Austraeus's _railgun-marred side.

These gases were the life of the starship's last fusion reactors. Before, they'd provided electrical power to the entire ship. Now, they provided thrust.

Three valves melted instantly, the hull that housed them collapsing and crumbling into space.

The _Austraeus_ lurched silently toward the _Retaliator._

Struck.

The larger starship pushed down on the smaller, its life draining from its side.

And then, the two hit the atmosphere.

The _Retaliator's _shields crackled and died as a torrent of particles began to hit it all at once.

Her captain screamed obscenities in a, for him, unusual outburst of anger and rage at the enemy who had betrayed his trust and mercy.

Hulls glowed orange as the starships began to slow, friction decelerating them from orbital velocity to terminal velocity, Borium armour be damned.

The captain of the _Austraeus _gripped his armrests with white knuckles as his starship went where it was never designed to go.

The AI of the _Austraeus_ thought its last as its last power supply was drained.

Metal buckled and scraped and screamed as it expanded in the heat of re-entry.

A collective scream arose from each of the three cities on Venice 3 as their inhabitants heard the sonic booms and saw the calamity unfolding.

For the Titans in heaven above were falling.


	38. The Crows

It's been a while, so here's the story so far:

The Austraeus, an IMC freighter, warps from the core worlds to the frontier. Along the way they discover Demeter has been destroyed, and the IMC has fled to outpost 207. The Militia think that the IMC won't be able to warp to the frontier for a long time, and the captain of the _Austraeus_ decides to use this to his advantage. While the Austraeus drops into orbit around Venice 3 (a trading hub) one team of IMC soldiers jumps to Carlyle refueling station, another jumps to Venice 7 (home to Kodai's manufacturing plant), and still more jump down to Venice 3 to scout for supplies and information.

On Venice 3, a bounty hunter named Zeta discovers the IMC on accident but decides to side with them. Unfortunately, the Militia and the Venice 3 senate _also_ discover the IMC. The Senate, lead by a man named Menelaus, shoots the _Austraeus _in orbit, and the explosions of the _Austraeus's_ fusion reactors propel it and the Militia's battleship the _Retaliator_ into Venice 3's atmosphere.

The Carlyle team manages to recover the _Dawntreader_, an ancient starship presumed KIA. In the process, Carlyle refueling station is destroyed, and most of the IMC soldiers are killed.

The Venice 7 team managed to convert a Samson Assault truck to a mobile hardpoint by mounting a long-range communications dish to its roof. They managed to hack into Kodai's main computer network, transferring ownership of all of Kodai's 'for sale' starships to the IMC. However, in the process, the IMC troops are cornered in a warehouse.

* * *

Within Kodai's warehouse, four IMC Titans and a Samson assault truck fled from a squadron of Kodai Titans.

Jaggerjack the Ogre stormed through the halls of shelves, heading straight for the warehouse's west wall. Beyond the wall would be a dropship, ready for evacuation.

_I hope._

He pulled his left fist back and hurled it forward through a wall of shelving ahead of him, burst through the hole he'd made.

"Through here!" he roared at his allies behind him.

Boxes of Kodai-made munitions toppled to the ground as he demolished the next wall with the top of his chassis. The power cable that had been amping his railgun pulled taught, then popped from the socket on his arm.

_Railgun's not amped anymore. I'm just an ordinary Ogre. _

He took a left, then a right, then ran head-first into the Kodai Titan that had been waiting for him. It swung a punch, connected with his Railgun, knocked it to the side. He spun on his foot, carrying the railgun in a full circle before swinging it at the Stryder. It dodged. He cursed, took a quad rocket to the face.

"Open the upper eject hatch," he grunted, grabbing his DMR and hauling himself out of his seat and through the portal. "And fire everything we've got."

"Switching to Guard Mode," replied his AI.

A DMR shot to the Stryder's Sensor array temporarily blinded it and the Stryder stumbled backwards. It dropped a particle wall and opened its front hatch, exposing the pilot inside.

_Manual targeting, eh?_ thought Jaggerjack, clutching the handholds on his Ogre's back. _Well, I was going to rodeo it, but, if she wants to do it this way..._

The Kodai Pilot pulled the trigger on her right joystick, firing her Stryder's quad rocket. As the four rockets left the Stryder's cannon Jaggerjack leapt from his Ogre's back, tucked his legs under his body as the rockets passed underneath him.

"Titan doomed," announced his Titan AI.

He hit the ground, rolled around the Stryder's particle wall. Crouched, shot upwards twice into the Stryder's open Cockpit and through the female pilot's head.

_Open Cockpit's a good counter to sensory disruption, but it has its drawbacks._

Her corpse toppled from the cockpit and he leapt up to take its place. "Be advised," he announced through his helmet's radio, sliding his hands into their control gauntlets, "I am currently inside an enemy Stryder."

He spun on his new heels, sprinted back to the IMC party. Rimjob the Autotitan stormed after him, plasma railgun in its hand. Behind it rolled the Samson, behind it, Danniek and Rimjob's Titans. Danniek stopped for a second, spun in a circle. Dropped his particle wall and fired his cluster missile. Flicked his feet underneath him, hauled the battemech's legs around in a circle to face his destination again. This move exposed his back to the enemy Titans - but, they were now dealing with the cluster missile, allowing him to storm after his allies unhindered.

"ETA to the shuttle arrival?" he asked.

"One minute."

Jaggerjack burst through the warehouse's entrance, winced as his eyes were blinded by the lights in the sky shining through his open cockpit.

_Lights in the sky? We're too far away for the sun to be that bright._

His eyes focused a second later and a smile crept across his lips.

A fleet of starships were ascending to space. Plumes of helium erupted from the fusion thrusters of cruisers and battleships; pillars of flame burned from the chemical rockets of frigates and destroyers. The dark Venice 7 sky was ablaze with light.

"They did it," whispered Jaggerjack. "They finished the hack."

"ETA to dropship?" growled Rimjob, dropping _his _particle wall a split second before an enemy cluster missile slammed into it.

"40 seconds."

"Where is the damn thing?!" he exclaimed, turning to continue after his party.

As Jaggerjack the Stryder continued its sprint away from the warehouse, Jaggerjack the human glanced down at the map his new Titan's AI had drawn for him. He was running at the head of the party, who were marked as hostiles on his radar. Behind him was Rimjob's auto-titan, firing automatically at anything that moved. Following that came the Samson of soldiers and civilian mechanics, and following _that _came Danniek and Rimjob the Atlases. The five vehicles were currently fleeing the Kodai Titans following them, marked as friendlies on the Kodai radar.

He looked up, saw Kodai's engineering district ahead of him. It seemed that the small - _well, compared to a Titan_ \- two to three story buildings encircled the warehouse. With a pulse of his dash rockers, Jaggerjack the Stryder shot between a row of buildings down a wide street. With a flick of his eyes, Jaggerjack the Human checked the rear cameras.

_They're still behind me. Good._

A small dropship - _Crow-Class,_ thought Jaggerjack - sped towards them, low over the horizon. In the sky high above Venice 7, railgun rounds, missiles and lasers flashed and sparkled between Kodai's starships and the starships the IMC had stolen.

_Makes sense that they'd have a fleet of their own. But they'd never have anticipated someone stealing ALL of their ships._

"This is the evac point!" called Jaggerjack. "20 seconds to arrival."

He spun on his feet, raised the Kodai Stryder's Quad rocket to his eye.

Danniek the Atlas bobbed to the left.

Rimjob the Atlas ducked to the right.

Jaggerjack's finger twitched and the rockets fired, soaring along the street, between the buildings, between Danniek and Rimjob and over the Samson to detonare in the chest of the leading pursuing Kodai Titan. It stopped abruptly, as if it had ran into a brick wall, before recovering.

The other Kodai Titans returned fire with a barrage of chaingun and 40 millimetre cannon rounds. A 40 millimetre cannon shell impacted with Rimjob's left arm, throwing him off ballance. Danniek the Atlas managed to throw up his particle wall a moment later.

"I'm down," growled Rimjob, Atlas toppling to the ground. "Ejecting."

His Atlas exploded and he shot into the air, rained arc grenades upon the approaching Titans.

Back on the ground, Danniek the Atlas popped its damage core and loosed five railgun rounds from their magazine.

"Alright, people," grunted Jaggerjack, taking a step over the Samson so that he was between it and the approaching Kodai Titans. "Evac in 10 seconds. Get into that dropship as quick as you can."

Out of the engineering workshops stormed a squad of Kodai soldiers, armed to the teeth with anti-titan and anti-personnel weaponry. Aisling, inside the Samson, ducked behind the armored doors as the IMC soldiers traded fire with the Kodai soldiers. Danniek's foot put an end to the battle, squashing three of the Kodai riflemen and forcing the rest to retreat back inside the workshops.

The dropship - a Crow-class orbit-to-atmosphere transport - swooped to a halt a metre off the ground, just behind the Samson. Like an angel from the heavens.

"Move!" ordered Jaggerjack.

Rimjob hit the ground, jump kit jets flaring. With a leap, he was sprinting along a workshop wall. A pulse of his jump kit left him standing atop an enemy Titan's chaingun. The Atlas took a step back on reflex, then drew its left arm back. He jumped over the punch, somersaulted onto the Atlas's back, tore the service port off the Atlas's head and stuffed an arc grenade inside.

Two of the soldiers within the Samson pushed the doors open and scooted backward, slowly retreating to the Crow. Aisling, Nathan and Philip followed them out.  
"Cover us!" ordered one soldier.

"On it!" replied the four men still left in the Samson. They opened fire, carbines rattling at the Kodai workshops where the Kodai soldiers hid.

High above the first story of the workshops, Titans continued to exchange fire. Danniek the Atlas's left leg collapsed under a rain of chaingun fire as his particle wall fizzled out. His Chassis fell to the ground with a thud.

"Punching out," he grunted, pulling the eject lever. A split-second later his ejector seat propelled him through the hatch in the top of the Titan.

Rimjob slid off the Kodai Atlas, rolled to the left as it tried to stand on him. The arc grenade he'd dropped inside exploded and it fell to the ground in spasms as the its Pilot's muscles jerked uncontrollably.

Jaggerjack dodged two 40 millimetre shots, took another to the face, fired his quad rocket in retaliation. Ducked under a railgun shot that punched through the workshops behind him.

"Is everyone in the dropship?" he rasped, hull exposed under his new Stryder's dead shield.

"We're in!" replied Aisling.

"Danniek, get to the dropship," ordered Jaggerjack, popping his dash core.

"On it!" replied Danniek, tossing a spare arc grenade to Rimjob, who caught it, pulled the pin and lobbed it into the oncoming Kodai Titans' sensors. He leapt into the air, sprinted along a workshop wall toward the dropship. Took a carbine shot to the ribs and kept going, stim replacing his lost blood.

Jaggerjack dashed forward, kicked the spasming Kodai Atlas's cockpit door in, and continued onward, dashing over the dead husk of a battlemech and throwing his fist in the face of another Kodai Titan.

"Four on one," he growled through the Kodai Titan's radio. "Let's see how you face up to me."

He faked a punch - prompting his opponent to punch back - but fired his quad rocket instead. Took a 40 millimetre cannon shot to the back and keeled forward. Tried to dash, but found that his dash core had ran out. Cursed, popped his particle wall and tried to escape backwards.

"Wait!" screamed Aisling as the Crow began to rise into the air to join the fleet of stolen Kodai starships. "Jaggerjack-"

"-Will eject," interrupted Rimjob, leaping from the top story of the workshops and into the dropship. "Who's flying this damn thing?" he asked, extending his hand to Danniek and hauling him up.  
"I am, Sir!" called a soldier from the front of the Crow.

"Hover just above that Stryder!"  
"Yes, Sir!"

The Crow continued to rise, rockets flaring underneath it, jump drive preparing to launch it into orbit.

_We might just make it out of here alive!_ thought Aisling. _We came, we managed to hold the hardpoint long enough for the Austraeus to hack into the Kodai starships… We're going to make it!_

"I can't stay here much longer!" shouted the Crow Pilot. "Those AA cannons will start tearing us to pieces any minute now!"

"Jaggerjack! Time's up, we've got to go!"

"See you later, assholes," growled Jaggerjack through his Stryder's Kodai radio. "Punching out!" he called through his helmet's IMC radio.

The explosives in his ejector seat detonated, propelling him out his dying Stryder's cockpit. He shot high into the air, stretched his arm out for the bottom of the dropship.

Aisling saw the next few events rather slowly.

Danniek leant out of the Crow's open door. He extended his arm to Jaggerjack.

Jaggerjack caught Danniek's hand.

Danniek began to pull the Pilot into the Crow.

A burst of chaingun fire tore Jaggerjack to a meaty pulp. A drop of blood landed on Aisling's helmet.

Another bullet flew through the Crow's door and tore through Danniek's shoulder. He screamed. Rimjob pulled him away from the Crow's door.

A man screamed in pain. A woman screamed in shock. Someone began to order. The Crow's door slid closed.

"Aisling!" roared Rimjob, snapping her back to reality. Danniek's blood coated his gloved hands. "Get me the medical kit in the corner!"

"Jumping to orbit!" screamed the Crow pilot as she dumbly handed him the kit. "Cabin's pressurised now! Jumping in three-"

"JUMP NOW!" roared Rimjob.

"Mark!"

And then, Venice 7 was gone.


	39. The Escape

Author's note:

A special thanks to FuryTheRedhead, who pointed out all the shit in my fanfiction and helped me make it better. If this chapter reads any better than the last, it's thanks to him / her.

* * *

Jenni the Stryder continued its sprint along the steel beams of the ravaged refueling station. Debris marred its path, railgun rounds from Kodai's orbital defence cannons continued to tear apart the very station they were built to protect.

None of that mattered, though. What mattered was the soldier on her back and the monstrosity of a starship that would soon be waiting for her. She could see it silhouetted against the gas giant that was Carlyle, preparing to jump.

_Just a little further!_

She leapt from one beam to a stray panel of rubble. Another leap saw her soar through the void and onto another beam. Her left arm came up to bat smaller fragments of metal away from her face.

And then the space in front of her seemed to narrow and contract. For a moment, Carlyle was a pinprick in the distance - and then everything came rushing back and the _Dawntreader _loomed in front of her. A panel in the side of its hull opened like a cave at the foot of a cliff.

"Hold on tight!" she grunted to Seeley.

Jenni the Stryder's dash rockets erupted and she shot from the edge of the refueling station across the void and into the hangar.

"We're in!"  
"They're in," repeated Sophia. "Punch it!"  
"This is your captain speaking," giggled the _Dawntreader._ "Please fasten your seatbelts, stow any luggage underneath your seats and prepare for another jump in three, two, one, MARK!"

In a single instant the stars collapsed into a pinprick in the distance. The next, they were amongst them.

"ETA to Venice 3?" asked Sophia.  
"That depends how fast you want to go. You wanna go really fast? You'd have to be in cryo, but I could probably make the jump in 26 hours."  
"_Twenty-six hours for an interstellar jump?!"  
_"Yep," replied the _Dawntreader _proudly.

"Not bad a find," commented Jenni, elevator doors sliding open to reveal the Pilot and the soldier she'd managed to evacuate. She took a couple of unsteady steps across the bridge.  
"You… you okay?" asked Sophia, eyeing the Pilot from her seat.  
"Yes. Why would I-" began Jenni, looking down.

She was saturated with sweat. Beads of liquid ran down her flushed face, her underarmor glistened with the liquid.

"You… look like you've been working quite hard."  
Jenni laughed. "I hadn't efen noticed." She brought a hand to her forehead, closed her eyes. Exhaled. "I will be fine. I just need to rest." She took a step, collapsed into an empty seat on the bridge, and immediately fell asleep.  
"No," cried Sophia, shaking her awake. "I've got something important to ask."  
"Well, ask it quickly."  
"We can make the jump in 26 hours, but we'd have to be in Cryo."  
Jenni groaned. "Alright. You know, I really hate Cryo."

A door to the side of the bridge opened. "The Bridge's Cryopods are in here," offered the _Dawntreader_'s AI.

Sophia helped Jenni up. The five - Sophia, Jenni, and the three soldiers that had survived the carnage - staggered over to the Cryopods.

Off came their clothes. The five were too tired to care about each other's nakedness. Each pulled the IV tube from the side of their cryopod, each slipped the needle into their arms. Sophia felt the liquid seep into her veins, felt the cold wrap around her body like a snake underneath her skin.

She dipped a leg into the cryopod's gel, realised just how numb she was already feeling. Dipped the other leg in, slid into the freezing bath. Let her breath out, dipped her head underneath the gel and inhaled.

It was kind of cold, and yet, somewhat warm. Her heart began to slow, her thoughts began to run together like water.

_It's been a long day,_ she thought. _But, we found the Dawntreader. I found the Dawntreader. Funny that. Dawn-treader. There aren't any Dawns in space. There are Dawns on planets, but not in space. What a silly name for a starship._

* * *

"I want to take control over Lawrence's Run," announced Dr. Hammond, striding into the office of Dr. Jones, the man who'd revived him from Cryosleep. "I need," the elderly engineer began, counting on his fingers, "3.2 gigagrams of plastics, 6.3 gigagrams of metal - nuclear iron should do - a gigagram of assorted synthetics, five construction barges,.. maybe... two battleships and five cruisers, just to be on the safe-"  
"Wait a second." interrupted Dr. Jones, looking up from his monitor, eyes dulled in confusion. "Why the hell do-"  
"Because," sighed Hammond, "the IMC board has decided to trust me. They want me to build them some legacy drives. But I've got a better idea."  
"No they haven't!" cried Jones, searching through his communicator for the important message that he must have missed. "They're still in the meeting!"  
"Oh, they'll decide that they want my help," dismissed Hammond. "So, when they leave that meeting," Hammond checked his watch, "...which they already have, but you'll only get the update in… what, thirty seconds' time..? When they leave the meeting, they'll tell me that they trust little ol' back-from-the-dead me, and they'll want me to build them some legacy drives."

Jones' communicator dinged. He looked at it in a mix of shock and horror.

"Tha- that's exactly… that's exactly what they decided!"  
"Exactly. What kind of resources am I allowed access to?"  
"Well… uhh, you're supposed to ask me for resources, and then I let you know if you can have him," Jones muttered, eyes scanning his monitor, sweat beginning to drip from his forehead. "I'm not allowed to let you know exactly how much of our resources you can have…"

Hammond put his fingers to his temples.

_Hammond AI core, online. How may I help you, Sir?  
__What kind of resources will the IMC give me?  
__According to the microphones in their meeting room, they will grant you access to up their second fleet, plus everything they have on one of their manufacturing planets. No more. They are being generous in what they'll give you, but they do not wish for you to ask for all of their resources at once. They would prefer it if you requested resources as you needed them. They want to remain in control.  
__Thanks. Unfortunately, that's not how I work._

The whole exchange took roughly three seconds, and it looked to Dr. Jones as if Hammond had merely taken a moment to think.

"So, one fleet and one planet, if my memory serves me correctly…" Hammond muttered.  
"How the fuc- I, I mean, how do you know that?" gasped Jones.  
"A magician never reveals his tricks. So. What's the closest manufacturing planet to Lawrence's Run?"  
"That would be Brink…"  
"Very well then. I need to get to Brink as soon as possible. That is, If the IMC wants to regain control of the frontier, which I imagine it does. I need to take control over Brink, and I need to be ready to build a station around Lawrence's run. I'll be done in a few weeks, at which point the IMC's fleets should meet me there, ready for battle."  
"A few weeks?" mumbled Jones weakly.  
"7 days? 168 hours? Oh, I'll also need some new clothes, a transport to Brink, authorisation to mobilise the IMC's second fleet and the IMC's manufacturing barges on Brink, access to the IMC accounts to buy resources for the project… oh, and a lawyer. Can you get all that for me?"  
"I - a lawyer? What for?"  
"Well, the IMC is a branch of Hammond Robotics, and I was the CEO and owner of Hammond Robotics before I went into Cryosleep. I'd like to steal my company back from your employer, if that's okay. Thanks for the help!"

Hammond turned, left Jones' office with a smirk creeping across his lips.

* * *

"Decelerating to orbital speed in three, two, one, mark!"

The Crow-class Dropship's jump drives switched off and it materialised amidst the fleet of stolen Kodai starships. Its forward rockets fired and the dropship began to slow to a halt.

Outside the two fleets exchanged shots from afar. Kodai's defence fleet hung in the air to the east; the stolen starships - their autopilots now following IMC orders - orbited to the west. Railgun shots flashed through the space between them, lasers melted through radiators, missiles exploded against hulls. Each fleet was constantly moving, cycling undamaged starships to the front lines while automated repair barges sealed the torn hulls and replaced the radiators of the damaged starships.

The largest starship, a Dreadnought, hung in the middle of the IMC fleet. She had been built specifically to be the central starship of a fleet. Unlike the cuboid battleships the Dreadnought bent to the side like a banana. Its curve was its greatest asset. The long side of the curve faced toward the Kodai feet and housed the majority of the Dreadnought's armor and weaponry, in stark comparison to the battleships, whose armor and weaponry was distributed around their hulls. The shorter side of the Dreadnought, where all of the Dreadnought's exhaust vents and radiators were housed, was protected from the enemy fleet by the thicker armor curving in front of it. It would be easy to cripple the Dreadnought in an attack to its short side, if the Dreadnought were not protected by the swarms of cruisers and destroyers and frigates that made up the fleet around it. Likewise, it was incredibly _difficult_ to cripple such a Dreadnought from its curved side, and as it just so happened, this Dreadnought's curved side faced Kodai's fleet.

An IMC cruiser lay dead in the space, its radiators unable to cope with the lasers that had been trained on it. A repair barge - only just larger than a Destroyer - made a move forward to retrieve it. A Kodai logistics cruiser warped a squadron of frigates amidst the IMC fleet; a pair of IMC destroyers broke away from their formation to pursue the troublemakers.

Aisling stared around the dropship. Two of the Three IMC pilots had survived. 22 of the original IMC soldiers had been killed over the course of the last four hours; by shrapnel, bullet or laser. She'd barely noticed them from inside the Samson, laying down their lives to protect the Assault truck with the radio dish on its roof. There were only eight IMC soldiers left, making a total of just thirteen people aboard the dropship.

"Come in, Dreadnought," said Rimjob over the Crow's lasercomms.  
"Dreadnought AI speaking," replied the enormous Dreadnought's AI in a smooth, feminine voice. "How may I help you?"  
"I'm your new owner," Rimjob lied. "First, you are the largest starship in my newly-purchased fleet, right?"  
"Affirmative. Captain, I must interrupt. The last orders I received were to rendezvous with your dropship, even if the enemy fleet opened fire. Is this correct?"  
"Yes. Minimise your losses and wait for us."  
"Very well."  
"Also, I'm renaming you to the _IMS Restoration_, and I'm raising your designation to the flagship of this fleet. If that were not clear already."  
"Very well. Informing the other starships. Starships informed. Captain, you are now 30 seconds away from me. I am opening a hangar now. A suitable entrance path has been relayed to your Crow's computer."  
"Thanks. We'll be inside shortly."

Danniek sat on the floor, head in hands. Aisling sat down beside him.

"Hey," she began. After a moments' silence,  
"Hey," he replied.

She opened her mouth to speak but couldn't think of anything to say.

After a minute,

"I don't know what to think," he confessed. "He was… always there in front of us. Always leading. He never faltered for a second. And now…"

He grit his teeth, inhaled, exhaled.

"With him down, it's either Rimjob or Me for command. I'll be honest with you, I don't think I'm ready for that kind of responsibility."  
"Nobody ever _feels _ready," she said, trying to reassure him. "And nobody ever _is_ ready."  
"I guess." He sighed, forced a smile for her. "Oi, Rim. ETA to the _Restoration?_"  
"5 seconds."  
"Right-o." Danniek got to his feet, helped Aisling up and grabbed a handhold as the shuttle's engines switched off, returning them to a weightless state.

The Crow began to drift inside the _Restoration's_ open hangar.

"Captain?" came the _Restoration's _AI's voice. "Docking is commencing. Be advised, our fleet has taken moderate damage from the enemy fleet. Nothing we cannot repair, but enough to be a problem in further engagements. You should also know that we only have enough fuel for three jumps."  
"Cool," grunted Rimjob. "Just get us out of here as soon as possible."  
"Certainly," replied the _Restoration. _"Warp drive capacitors are at 32% and climbing."

The Crow's forward thrusters burned slightly, bringing it to a halt inside the _Restoration's _hangar.

"Commencing pre-jump preparations. Brace for acceleration in three, two, one, mark."

Aisling felt herself being pushed toward the _Restoration's _thrusters as they ignited to push the starship away from Venice 7 and toward Venice 3. Outside, the rest of the fleet began to do the same. Frigates, Corvettes and Destroyers moved inline with the Cruisers, Battleships and Dreadnoughts, their AI's each planning to capitalise on the larger starships' jump drives. Inside, the crew of the Crow found themselves falling to the floor.

"Warning," said the _Restoration's_ AI. "This hangar is unpressurised. Please ensure that all personnel have oxygen supplies."  
"Ugh, helmets on again everyone," ordered Rimjob. "Then lets get inside."

He waited a second, then pulled the Crow door open and jumped out onto the floor of the hangar. Aisling, flanked by the rest of the crew, followed him out. Felt herself being pulled to the floor by the power of the starship's thrusters.

"_Restoration,_ where's the Bridge?" asked Danniek, helping two injured soldiers limp to the hangar airlock.  
"And where's the medical room?" asked Rimjob, reaching the airlock a second later, a woman leaning on him, too.

The Airlock closed, hissed, then opened to reveal the corridor directly behind the hangar. Its interior was constructed with pipes and wires, covered with panels of plastics and synthetics. Tools and spare parts hung off the walls by velcro straps and zipties. A moment ago they had all been weightless; now they hung from the walls, the Dreadnought's fusion rockets pulling them down.

"The Bridge is _up_ the elevator on floor 7," informed the _Restoration._ "The medical bay is _down _the elevator on floor 19. I can dispatch medical drones if you wish."  
"Do it," grunted the Pilot, stumbling down the corridor with the wounded.  
"I'm taking the Bridge," announced Danniek, sprinting down the corridor in the opposite direction. "Phillip," he called through the radio, "make your way to the bridge as soon as possible. Nathan, Aisling, give Rim a hand with whatever he needs. _Restoration_, open the elevator shaft on this floor."

Outside, the fleet extended in a long line facing its destination, the smaller starships preparing to utilise the superior warp drives of their larger allies. All began to accelerate away from Venice 7 and the other fleet that hung around it.

"Warp drive capacitors at 50% charge," called the _Restoration's _AI. "Be advised, the battleships in our fleet are at 72% charge."

Danniek leapt into the elevator shaft. He sprinted up the walls, jump kit flaring, feet flying underneath him.

"_Restoration_, open the elevator shaft door on floor 7!"  
"Opening elevator shaft door on floor 7."

He caught the edge of the floor, hauled himself up and onto the floor that housed the Dreadnought's bridge. Continued his sprint across the deck to the command centre of the starship, slid into the captain's seat.

"_Restoration._ Divert all power to the warp drives."  
"All power?" asked the _Restoration_. "Or a safe amount of power?"  
"Everything but the medical bay. We'll survive a few minutes without life support."  
"Very well. Diverting all power to warp drive capacitors and medical bay. Warp drive capacitors at 82% charge."  
"Keep going. Where are the wounded?"

"Safe," replied Rimjob over the radio. "The medical drones have them."  
"Good." Danniek returned his attention to the consoles in front of him. "Damage report."

Charts and figures poured onto the consoles. "Dreadnought _Restoration_ is unscathed. Battleships one, and two have taken moderate levels of damage and will require maintenance. Battleship three is unscathed. Heavy laser platform one is unscathed. Cruisers one, two, four, six, seven and eight have taken moderate levels of damage. Cruiser five is crippled. Cruisers three and nine are unscathed. Medium laser platforms one, two, and three are unscathed. One repair barge has been destroyed. Three repair barges require resupply. Six repair barges are operational but will require resupply soon. Six destroyers have been destroyed. Four destroyers have been crippled. Ten destroyers are unscathed. 36 frigates have been destroyed. 20 frigates have been crippled. 80 frigates are unscathed."

"Gotcha. Warp drive capacitors?"  
"99% char- 100%."  
"Make the jump."

Every single starship in the fleet activated their warp drives at once, discharging capacitors into Einstein-Hammond mass relays. Dozens of black holes flickered into existence in an instant; space itself twisted and stretched and writhed around the fleet. Fusion rocket outputs doubled; the crew of the _Restoration_ felt themselves be pulled downward even harder than before. The stars stretched into columns of light - and they were gone.

* * *

High above Venice 3 hung four Militia cruisers. Planetary defence cannons launched shell after shell through the atmosphere; the cruisers' computers ensuring that they dodged each shell by mere millimetres as to expend the least amount of fuel possible. Their own railguns fired back, but Venice 3's atmosphere ensured that only the largest of shells scraped their targets' armor without burning up.

Below the fleet, two enormous starships slid out of the sky.

"All personnel, we have hit the atmosphere!" announced Field Commander Graves through his communicator, gripping his armrests with white knuckles. "Repeat, we have hit the atmosphere! Evacuate the _Retaliator _immediately!"

_I have to evacuate as many people as possible!_

The _Retaliator's_ hull blazed a blinding orange as it broke the sound barrier. Its hull - never designed for atmospheric re-entry - creaked and groaned and erupted in flames on both the outside and inside of the starship. Lifepods fled the starship in droves, their occupants clutching their hand rests and praying to whatever gods they believed in.

* * *

Merely a hundred metres away, the _Austraeus _\- four times longer - slid out of orbit alongside the _Retaliator, _dwarfing the battleship. Panels of thin Borium armor tore from the _Austraeus's_ hull and dissolved like glowing ashes. Astraeus was the Greek Titan of stars, planets and wind. Now wind tore her apart.

"ETA to ground?" growled Captain Roberts, restraints buckled tight to hold him in place on the bridge.

No response. Only the rattle and rumble of the starship through the atmosphere.

"Oh, that's right," grumbled Roberts. "Overwatch's out of power." With a flick of his left hand's fingers a calculator appeared on one console, with a flick of his right hand's fingers, statistics from the _Austraeus's_ functional sensors appeared.

_Altitude / vertical velocity should give me a rough approximation of how long we've got._

He leaned in to his communicator. "Shipwide broadcast," he rasped. "Aside from our Pilots and Titan engineers, is anyone _not_ in a lifepod?"  
"There are six engineers on floor six who are trapped under some rubble!" replied Nina Stone frantically.

_Altitude's __60 kilometres… velocity's at 7.5 kilometres per second… but not all of that'll be directly downward, we're mostly still orbiting. I've got 20 minutes, judging from the camera feed from outside._

The _Austraeus_'s hull was melting into a single mass, its armor gone. Hangar doors caved in, allowing the heat to enter the starship itself. Airlocks failed, support beams vaporised.

"Screw it! Titan pilots, you are cleared for launch! Lifepods, launch when the Titans fall!"

_Hopefully, anyone watching won't notice the larger Titan pods amidst the lifepods. _

"But Sir-" began Stone, "The engineers!"  
"They can launch if they manage to escape!" roared Roberts. "Launch now!"

* * *

"Titan pilots, you are cleared for launch!" crackled Robert's voice over the radio.

An IMC pilot looked over at his mechanic. The mechanic nodded, and the Pilot nodded back. Climbed up into his Atlas's cockpit, flicked the startup switch.

"Titan boot successful. Drop mode initiated."  
"All Titans!" shouted a mechanic on the floor of the titan hangar, addressing the docile Titans. "Confirm that you're ready to drop!"

Each pilot keyed in their combination of trigger pulls and pedal bumps to confirm that yes, they were ready to dive.

"Alright! We're loading you into your drop pods now!"

The mechanic ducked as sparks erupted from a light above his head. Mechanics began to load each crouching Titan into a drop pod.

"Titan Lucy is ready to drop!" roared one mechanic.  
"Dropping!" called its Pilot, pulling the triggers on her joysticks.  
"Titan Lucy away!"

"Titan Ramses is ready to drop!"  
"Dropping!" called the Pilot named Ramseys, pulling his triggers.  
"Titan Ramses away!"

* * *

Something on one of Graves' consoles caught his eye. He looked up, saw hundreds of life pods erupt from the _Austraeus_ like fireworks. For some curious reason, some life pods were bigger than others.

But there was no time to contemplate this. A fire erupted on the bridge of the _Retaliator_, sparks flew from one of the doors to the bridge, panels of metal dropped from the roof.

_Time to go. _

Graves hauled himself out of his seat, clambered over the rubble that had began to collect on the floor of the bridge. Took a left as he exited, lurched down a corridor toward the last life pod remaining in the _Retaliator_ as the starship shook itself apart around him. He pulled the pod's door shut, buckled his restraints, and pulled the launch lever.

* * *

"Titan Badger is ready to drop!" announced another IMC mechanic.  
"Drop-" began its Pilot.

* * *

With a deep whine the _Austraeus_ tore in two. Eight Titans and the corpses of their mechanics toppled out of the breach and hit the atmosphere outside. The mechanics were burned to crisps instantly; the Titans' shields fizzled in seconds. Just enough time to slow to a survivable speed.

* * *

"Have the Titans dropped?" Captain Roberts asked his communicator.

No response. Then,

"-Split in two, Sir!"

_There's nothing I can do now,_ Roberts thought, hauling himself from his seat and pulling himself into a lifepod off the Bridge.

_With any luck,_ he thought, strapping himself in, _when these starships hit the ground, we'll be able to control the crash site with our Titans. I just hope that Graves thought first to evacuate his crew and not to get his Titans out._

He pulled the launch lever and with a woosh the pod launched itself from the _Austraeus._

* * *

"There's only one thing for it," Zeta commed, eyeing the soldiers, sniper and Titan that guarded the captured IMC civilians in Cloud Square. "Two arc grenades. One on the Sniper, one on the Titan. Should take out their visuals for a few seconds."  
"But there are still 25 soldiers down there. Even if 24 of them get caught in the blast, that's still one killing our soldiers."  
"We could shoot him before he does…"  
"Too risky," declared Bruce. "We need to do this clean."  
"Well, maybe there's some way of using the Titan?" suggested Zeta. "If we could get inside it-"  
"Then Venice's police would shoot all of our civilians before we could do anything."  
"Damn. Wait, no. What if we just piloted the Titan away? We could tell the police that we're going to check something out but need backup. That gets rid of 10 of them."  
"And the other fiftee-" began Bruce.  
"Wait as second," gasped Zeta. "Look."

Bruce looked.

"Fuck me," he breathed.  
"It's really falling."  
"Holy shit."

Smoke trailed from the _Austraeus_ and the _Retaliator's_ sides, metal melted and oozed off the starships' hulls. They slid through the sky, two unstoppable behemoths on a collision course with the ground.

In front of their eyes the _Austraeus_ split in two. Steel beams and life pods and munitions crates and dropships and armor plating littered the sky in her wake.

"There's gonna be an earthquake," muttered Zeta, eying up the starships' trajectories.

_They're gonna crash on the hills to the East of Alpha. Just past where we launched the probes._

"Okay, here's the plan," she began. "When those two starships crash, the shit's going to hit the fan. I imagine that half of these guys" - she motioned to the Venice 3 police below her - "are going to be called to secure the crash site. The Titan'll probably have to go, too."  
"So we go in then? That's still not good enough. There are still 25 of them."  
"No. Instead, we go for the Titan."  
"Huh?"  
"If I jump on the Titan's back and stick it with my Electric Katana, its shields will die in seconds. The Pilot will be real confused. He might even come out. When he does, you shoot him, and I get in the Titan."  
"And if he doesn't?"  
"Then I stick the Katana through his cameras. I'll make him come out."  
"Okay…"  
"I get the Titan. We return to Cloud Square. We make up some bullshit about how the AutoTitan is malfunctioning, and we can't stop the damn thing. 'Oh no, it's going to stomp through Cloud Square and crush everyone!' "  
"Uhhh…"  
" 'Shoot at the Titan!' " continued Zeta. " 'It's the only way to stop it! There's a weak point in the knees!' or some other shit. Then, when they're all reloading, you drop an arc grenade on the Sniper. Hilt and the other guys start shooting at the policemen who still have full magazines. I shoot the Titan's chaingun at everyone else. We kill 25 of them in 5 seconds. Easy."  
"Are you sure about this?"  
"You got a better idea?"  
"No…"  
"Well, you've got until that Titan gets called away to think of a better one."


	40. The Impact

This universe isn't dead yet.

* * *

Roberts fumbled with his life-pod's seatbelt for a second. Heard a click, felt the belt tighten a moment later. Glanced out the window of the life-pod just in time to see the _Austraeus _split in two. Fragments of hull splintered from the breach; titanium and steel and aluminium hit the air and melted within seconds. The entire starship sailed sideways through the air, heading for the desert outside Alpha.

He reached for the emergency console in front of him, logged into the _Austraeus's _remote controls and vented her fuel. A plume of liquid Tritium shot from forward vents in the hull and exploded as it hit the air - yet barely slowing the starship down.

_At least we won't get caught in the blast of a hydrogen bomb when the Austraeus hits the ground._

"ETA to ground: 10 minutes," said the Lifepod's speakers.

The life-pod turned as it fell, giving Roberts a panoramic view of hell. On one side of the life-pod fell the _Austraeus;_ on the other the _Retaliator_ careened toward the ground. Both starships noses' glowed white orange. Molten iron and Borium slid from their sides as they melted and vaporised. Life-pods shot from their side, slipping upwards through the air as they slowed to terminal velocity faster than the behemoths they originated from.

Roberts could see the _Austraeus_ again, the life-pod having completed its turn. With an earsplitting groan, the larger of the _Austraeus's_ halves split in two once more. Shipping containers and dropships and beams of steel and spare tanks of hydrogen slid from the breach. The first six floors of the starship had melted and crumpled; flames had begun to lick the seventh.

"ETA to ground: 9 minutes."

"This is Captain Roberts of the IMS Austraeus," said Roberts over the life-pod's emergency radio. "IMC personnel, report."

"Copy that, Captain Roberts. This is Titan Badger, reporting in."  
"Titan Lucy."  
"Titan Ramses."  
"Titan Alexander. Reading you, Captain."  
"Titan Ares."  
"Titan Horus."  
"Titan Leonidas."  
"Titan Bobcat."  
"Life-pod Array, checking in," muttered Ashley Stone through grit teeth. "I answer for the 30 or so life-pods that dropped with me."

"Anyone have eyes on the Militia?" asked Roberts, peering out the life-pod's window.

"Affirmative, Captain," replied the Pilot of Titan Ares as he fell through the sky. "What's the matter?"  
"Can you identify any Titans dropping from the _Retaliator?_"

"Uhh…" mumbled the Pilot, searching his display for Titan-Sized objects falling from the _Retaliator_. "None on the visual. And none on the LIDAR, either, but there's so much interference with the rubble that I can't be sure."  
"Right. Keep your eyes peeled. Which Titans are in drop-pods?"

"Titan Ramses, Lucy and I, Sir," replied the Pilot of Titan Badger.

"Either of you have warpfall transmitters?"  
"Negative, Captain. With our current drop-pods, we can be on the ground in 24 seconds."  
"Then don't. Stay in the air with us. All combatants, listen up. In six minutes we and the _Austraeus_ hit the ground hard. The Militia will crash about three hundred metres away from us. For now, we have the advantage. We've got Titans, they don't."

* * *

"What do you mean, _they might have Titans?_" asked Graves as he fell in his own life-pod.

"We picked them up on our cameras," answered a technician aboard one of the Militia Cruisers in orbit. Six of the 'life-pods' are too big to be life-pods."

"They couldn't just be rubble from the _Austraeus?_"  
"Sorry, Sir. The stat's team says there's a 82% chance the IMC have at least one Titan."

"Damnit," swore Graves.

"Be advised. ETA to ground: 5 minutes," announced Graves' life-pod's AI.

"Alright then, here's the plan," began Graves, addressing the other Militia life-pods through his radio. "The IMC is dropping beside us. They have the upper hand for fifteen minutes. They have Titans, we don't. Our Titans arrive from orbit in fifteen minutes. At that point we outnumber them and it's our advantage."

* * *

"And that's the problem," continued Roberts to the IMC. "In fifteen minutes, their reinforcements will arrive from orbit. At that point they'll have the advantage. We've got fifteen minutes to secure the best defensive positions possible, while they're on the defensive. In fifteen minutes, they'll go on the offensive."

* * *

"They'll be aiming to take every defensive position they can. The moment they're out of their life-pods they'll be sprinting for the wreckage of the _Austraeus_. They'll be climbing whatever's left of the hull and holding those positions. We need to shut them down with suppressive fire. I know you're all itching to engage the IMC on foot but we win this if we're patient. Your orders are to prevent them from building up a strong defense. When our cavalry arrives from orbit-"

_I showed them mercy,_ thought Graves, clenching his knuckles, gritting his teeth. _And they double-crossed me. Dragged us down into the atmosphere. Put my men in danger, destroyed a battleship, and forced our cruisers to stay in orbit under railgun fire._

"-then we will fuck. Them. Up," he spat.

* * *

"When their cavalry arrives from orbit, we'll need the best defense we can muster. _Our_ cavalry arrives from Venice 7 in 9 hours. If we can last that long, we'll be able to evac.

_We have to last nine hours in the middle of the night,_ though Roberts, staring at the low sun out of his lifepod's window. _We've got maybe three hours of daylight left. Under the cover of darkness they'll be able to advance much more easily. _

* * *

"The other problem," mused Graves, "is Venice 3's military. They shot us out of orbit because Menelaus is… insane. He'll have his military bomb us... and the IMC, too. He'll probably send tanks and Titans from Alpha."

_I knew we shouldn't have allied with him. He's an even worse dictator than the IMC. _

"Commander?" interrupted the technician aboard the Militia Cruiser.  
"What is it this time?"

"We're detecting a large warp signature coming from Venice 7. Did you request Kodai to resupply us? We're guessing five battleships, eight cruisers, 20 destroyers. ETA 9 hours."

Graves was silent for a moment. Then,

"They've got a way out," he whispered.

"Be advised. ETA to ground: 3 minutes."

* * *

At once, every life-pod in the air suddenly fired their rockets. The flaring rockets of the falling pods looked like the sparks of an exploding firework, and would have been as beautiful if not for the two starships falling alongside them. The life-pods began to decelerate. The behemoths of iron did not.

A moment later, one and a half kilometres below, the tip of the _Austraeus_ hit the side of a sand dune on a forty five degree angle. Sand turned to glass as momentum carried the remaining 140 million tons of starship across the ground. The leading end of the _Austraeus _didn't stand a chance. 13 floors had melted on the way down and now the next 20 crumbled under the momentum of the rest of the starship behind them. The hull buckled, parts of the titanium support skeleton splintered through the surface like bones from a snapped arm.

A mushroom cloud of smoke and flame and shrapnel erupted silently into the air.

A split second later, an ear-splitting shockwave ripped through the atmosphere.

* * *

"Fuck."

"Wha- oh."

Zeta and Bruce saw the flash of light emanate from the _Austraeus_. Saw the smoke fly into the sky. Saw the shock wave ripple across the desert toward Alpha.

Two seconds later it hit Alpha like the rumble of the earth splitting in two. Windows shattered. Children were blown off their feet by the blast. Hoverbuggy alarms blared. The ground itself shook.

"Now," whispered Zeta.

The Venice Police Titan had begun to move, its pilot having received orders to group for an attack on the source of the enormous explosion. Its legs carried it out of its position and down the Boulevard that lead away from Cloud Square toward the two Starships. Past two military trucks whose engines had just began to splutter to life.

Zeta drew her Electric Katana and dashed after the unsuspecting Titan. Her legs flew underneath her, stim flooded her veins. She dashed over the rooftops to the left of the Titan; Bruce mirrored her sprint on the other side of the Boulevard. She vaulted over an air conditioning unit, scrambled past a chimney and flung herself off the roof onto the back of the Atlas-class Titan. Took hold, hauled herself up onto the Titan's back and stabbed her sword into the Titan's back. Bruce slid to a halt, brought his rifle sights to his eye.

* * *

The _Austraeus_ kept sliding as the _Retaliator _hit the sand beside it. There was a second _crunch_ and a second _whine_ to compliment the first as one kilometre of battleship carved its way through the ground.

"ETA to ground: ninety seconds."

Small parts of the _Austraeus _had broken off and stopped in the sand while the rest of the starship continued sliding through the sand. Roberts saw them zip past underneath him, each set into small deposits of molten sand.

* * *

The Venice Pilot noticed Zeta the moment she planted her Katana into his Titan's back. He reared backward, wheeled around on one foot trying to shake Zeta off. She wrapped her legs around its missile pod and inched the sword into the Titan's shields. Lightning arced off the Titan's hull, down the Electric Katana and through the sword's power cable.

"Titan shields at 32%," offered Plus. "Personal power supply dropping."

"Keep going," she grunted. "He'll come out to investigate any moment now."

Its arms wheeled upwards, frantically trying to bat her off its back. She flattened herself against its hull as best as she could, squeezed her eyes shut, and hoped for the best.

"Titan shields at 0%. Personal power supply low."

"It's shields are down!" screamed Zeta over the radio. "GO FOR THE EYES!"

Bruce dropped to his knees, pulled his carbine to his eye and loosed a short burst of fire at the Atlas's optical sensor array. One hit the glass, dented it.

The Atlas stopped. Dropped to its knees. The cockpit door opened with a hiss of steam.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" sneered its Pilot, slipping from his seat and out of the now open cockpit door. He hit the ground, rolled elegantly to the side and drew a B3 Wingman. "You've attacked a Venice Pilot. Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?"

The Titan got back to its feet once more, turned to expose its back to its Pilot.

"Don't move a muscle," smirked the Pilot, aiming the pistol at his attacker. "My, you _are_ an interesting one, aren't you? Tell me, and I'll make your death quick. Why did you attack me?"

"I wanted your Titan. Bruce?"

"Who the hell is-" began the Pilot, and then his chest exploded as three bullets tore through it.

"Thanks." Zeta dropped to the ground, sheathed her Katana and removed the Venice Pilot's helmet. Extracted a chip from the back, plugged it into her own.

"Detecting a new identification chip," observed Plus. "Installing. Complete."

"We are in control of an enemy Titan," called Zeta over the radio.

"We're coming back to you guys now," continued Bruce, swapping his rifle's magazine.

Zeta waved at the Titan, and it turned to face her. Crouched, opened its cockpit, and she climbed in. Buckled the restraints and grabbed the joysticks. A second later, the cameras and screen came online.

And then, fizzled into static.

"That's odd," muttered Zeta. "Why aren't the optics working?"

Bruce waved his carbine. "You asked me to shoot them out, remember?"

"Oh. Plus, open the cockpit hatch. I'm going to have to pilot this thing manually."

* * *

"ETA to ground: fifteen seconds. Brace for acceleration in three."

Graves took a deep breath, exhaled, then tightened his grip on the Lifepod's handholds.

"Two, one, mark."

The Lifepod's rockets flared one last time, nearly slowing the lifepod to halt in mid air. There was a roar, then a hiss, then a thud.

"Be advised. Lifepod has landed. Please wait inside the lifepod for a few minutes to ensure it is safe outside."

* * *

Roberts unbuckled his restraints, fell out of the seat. Tried to get to his feet and collapsed to the floor of the Lifepod.

_I've spent so long in space that my muscles have atrophied. _

He flailed wildly for a moment, managed to open the first aid compartment. Bandages and needles and bottles of antibiotics toppled out on top of him. He grabbed at the set of crutches for a few seconds before stumbling to his feet.

_But not too long. Thank goodness for the Austraeus's centrifuge._

He tucked one of the crutches under his arm and pulled the door release lever. There was a hiss and a pop and the Lifepod opened and he stumbled out. Raised his arm to shield his eyes from the sunlight on reflex.

_It's still this bright?! It'll be night in a few hours!_

His eyes adjusted after a few seconds and he surveyed the crash site.

The landscape was a mess. The _Austraeus_ had carved a 700 metre wide scar through sand and the rock underneath it, littering the trench with pieces of hull and armor. The majority of the _Austraeus_ had broken into smaller pieces - _although still pretty damn enormous - _which peppered the desert like the drying bones of an animal's ribcage.

Something deep within what used to be the _Austraeus's_ main reactor hold exploded. A fragment of the starship's centrifuge creaked and groaned before toppling to the ground with a _woomph!_

The sky darkened for a moment, and Roberts realised, with a chill, that something had just cast a shadow over him. He turned slowly.

A Pilot leaned out of the Atlas's cockpit. "Titan Ares, Captain. The Militia will be making their way from the _Retaliator_ to our position any second now."

As if to reinforce the Pilot's point, Roberts heard the rattle of gunfire in the distance.

_Looks like the Militia forces are starting to engage us already. Now we just have to hold out for - what, eight and a half hours? Against the Militia pushing us back to the Austraeus and Venice's Army, who seem to want us both dead? _

"We're rendezvousing at the wreckage of the main cargo hold."

The Pilot pointed at the towering hulk of metal and Roberts turned to look.

_Hell, don't we still have civilians on the ground in Alpha? What's happening to them?_

"Hold still, Captain," ordered the Pilot, Titan arm reaching out slowly toward Roberts. "You look a bit unsteady on your legs. I'm going to carry you."

* * *

Graves stumbled out of his Lifepod, gasped for breath and squinted at the sky. The air was hot and dry; the sky was bright. After breathing for a few seconds he looked around the battlefield. Saw a drop-pod that had dropped near him and waved at it.

Four soldiers emerged from its steaming hull. One of them turned back to the pod, reached back in, and hauled a woman out. She stood, for a moment, then fell to the sand as her legs wobbled underneath her.

"Soldiers, Identify yourself," Graves coughed, stumbling toward the group.

The soldiers turned to him. "Captain Currie, Sir. Helldivers, 23rd."

"And the woman?" asked Graves, a sick grin forming on his lips as he recognized her.

"I'm not sure, Sir. We found her trying to evac from near the bridge. She doesn't seem to have a Militia ID."

Nina Soryuu's weak muscles were just strong enough to allow her to look back up at Graves with fear in her eyes.

"Well, allow me to introduce her to you," he sneered, grabbing her by the neck of her uniform and dragging her upward to his height. "This is IMC navigator Nina Soryuu."

Graves laughed. "She came aboard to negotiate for her ship's safety. Can you believe that?" He looked around the desert at the smoking skeletons of the _Austraeus _and the _Retaliator_. "A pity her captain decided to double-cross us and nudge us out of orbit," he spat. "I was actually going to have mercy on you fuckers. Well, she'll make a useful bargaining chip."

He dropped Soryuu and she hit the ground with a muffled thump and lay there for a second before struggling to get to her feet.

"In 10 minutes our orbital reinforcements get here." Graves looked to the sky. He could already see thin plumes of white smoke in the sky, a tell-tale sign of falling drop-pods. "After that we crush the IMC and jump out before _their _reinforcements get here." He tapped his radio. "How long until the IMC's reinforcements arrive from Venice 7?"

"Reinforcements, Sir?" asked a technician aboard one of the Militia cruisers still in orbit. "Do you mean the fleet jumping in from Venice 7?"

"I don't know who's operating them, but it's possible that they're being operated by the IMC," explained Graves. "I'm treating them as hostile. I want to be out of this desert and off this planet before they get here."

"Then we don't have long," said the technician. "Around 8 and a half hours. Their warp signature is still a little dim, though. When it brightens, we'll know their arrival time more accurately."

"Have you destroyed Venice 3's ground to orbit railguns yet?"  
"We've destroyed half of them and have taken minor damage in the process."  
"Good. Cease fire on Venice 3's defences and begin preparations to extract us on the ground and jump out within 8 hours."  
"Yes, Sir!"  
"Also. Air support. Venice 3 will be launching bombers to try and wipe both us and the IMC out. I want as many Hornets in the air as possible."  
"Wilco, Sir. Scrambling Hornets right away. They'll be ready to jump in a few minutes."  
"Good."

Graves turned back to Soryuu, who had began to crawl away from him.

"Get back here or I'll put a knife through your spine," he said, words as sharp and as cold as icicles.

She froze. Then, slowly turned back to face him.

"You wouldn't-"

"You'd be surprised what being stabbed in the back can do to a man."

He motioned to one of the Helldivers. "You. Bring her with us. You, with the sniper rifle. Find a good vantage point on the wreckage of the _Retaliator._ Over there looks good."

"On top of the Reactor Intake assembly?"  
"I'm impressed. Yes, up there."  
"What then?"  
"The IMC has Titan advantage for 10 minutes. I'm going to buy us some time."

* * *

Chapter 41 has been written, and is now being edited.


End file.
